“So we sot off tenderly through the bush, and we hadn’t gone mor’n fifty paces when I smelt the Kaffirs. I sank down; he did, too, and I peered through the shadders. A sound came to us—the sound of naked feet, of moving branches—and I knew the pass were full of men.
“He touched me on the arm as the bugle call to ‘fall in’ rang along into the still pass, ekering as it went from side to side.
“I put my mouth to his ear to tell him the Kaffirs were swarming, and that we could not go on, but must go up the ridge and work round to the troops.
“‘What are the Kaffirs doing?’ he sed.
“‘They are making an ambush.’
“‘And the General doesn’t know?’
“‘No, sonny, he doesn’t.’
“‘And they’ll march in and be stabbed,’ he whispered, with his eyes round and staring.
“‘Oh, they’ll fight their way out,’ I sed. ‘Come on after me.’
“‘Good-bye,’ he said, sitting down. ‘You go on—I’m tired.’