No, not less. On that point they were all ready to swear.
“Even as I suspected,” thought Claverton to himself. And he waited some time longer talking to Lumley, and ironically bantering some of his former men for their contribution to the recent chaos.
“A set of smart fellows you are, eh, old Cobus?” he said, addressing one of the sergeants. “Blazing away all night at the stars and bushes.”
“Nay what, kaptyn,” rejoined the old Hottentot, shamefacedly. “You see a lot of us shooting like that must hit somebody. We shall find many of the schelms lying there in the morning.”
“Many of the schelms? Devil a bit. One or two of your own sentries, perhaps.”
“No—Kafirs, kaptyn.”
“Bah. There won’t be a leaf or a twig left on the bushes within a circle of two miles, perhaps, but if you find a single Kafir lying within it, I’ll engage to eat him.”
There was a roar of laughter, half deprecatory, half of intense amusement, from the group of listeners who had drawn near, at this sarcastic hit. But just then a diversion occurred in the shape of the reappearance of the missing Corporal Smith.
“Hallo, Smith; where the devil have you been?” cried Lumley.
“Been on guard, sir,” was the reply, in a tone which seemed to add, “and now shut up.”