There was a reluctant guffaw at this; but the gloom had deepened on their warlike souls.
“Well, we may as well go back, streak it straight home again, if we’re going to be commanded by a set of old women,” growled the first speaker. “We didn’t come out here to play with the niggers, did we?”
“Looks like it, anyhow, mate.”
Thus amid much growling, which, however, was not directed at our friend Jim, but at the power behind that gallant leader, the camps were pitched. A portion of the Police force started off back to their headquarters at Ibeka; but here, close to the scene of their late victory, the volunteers and burgher forces remained; and at nightfall the horses were driven in and “rung,” that is to say, tethered in circles; while additional sentries were posted, and every precaution taken, the recent success notwithstanding, for they were in the enemy’s country.
Jim Brathwaite was mightily glad, and no less surprised at the unexpected meeting, and warmly seconded Hicks’ suggestion that Claverton should join his corps.
“Twice I noticed a fellow to-day, Arthur,” he said, “who reminded me of your straight riding; and, by George, it must have been you yourself. Well, well; we are all bound to meet again some day, however we may scatter. But what do you think that fellow Hicks has done?”
“What?”
“Committed matrimony. And so has Jack.”
“Has he? Jack, I mean. I knew about the other. Who, and when, and where?”
“Oh, that’s a very old story, Jim,” said Armitage, trying to look quite at his ease. “Claverton heard it ages ago. Give us some baccy.”