The other stared. There was a grim directness in the question. Both were thinking the same thing. It seemed an odd question to be put by a man who had been publicly accused of cowardice. Its propounder was enjoying the other’s confusion.
“Fighting?” echoed Ancram.
“Yes. Because if you are you’ve come to the right shop for it. You’ll get plenty if you remain in the country, and that before very long too.”
“Why? Who is there to fight?”
“The Matabele.”
“But I thought they were all conquered—licked into a cocked hat.”
“So did, so do, a lot of other people who ought to know better. But they’re not. Let this rinderpest go a little further, and when the Government has shot a few more of their cattle—then we shall see.”
“By Jove! I had no idea of that.”
“Or you wouldn’t have come,” Lamont could not help appending. He had detected a note of consternation in Ancram’s tone. And Ancram was one of those who had stood by and endorsed the accusation of cowardice hurled against himself.
“Oh yes, I would,” answered the other, with rather a forced laugh. “But I say, Lamont, what about you two fellows—and others in a lonely place like this? Where would you come in?”