He looked imploringly at Graeme as he spoke, and was conscious of a faint sensation of relief, for his subordinate's face was confident as ever. Why could he not feel the same?
"I beg your pardon, sir," answered Hector; "I have no wish to be unduly curious. One thing, however, I should like to ask, if I may, who's commanding the opposite side?"
"Certainly you may know that, Graeme," said Bumps, watching him; "it's Colonel Wicklow." And once more Hector laughed, for his opponent was a Staff College graduate, and reputed one of the smartest officers at that time in South Africa.
"Thank you, sir," he replied; "I'm much obliged to you for giving me a chance of defeating such a distinguished officer."
"I hope you may," snapped the General; "but it's time you saw the scheme; here it is," drawing a long blue envelope from his pocket and handing it to Graeme, at the same time again closely watching him, the twinkle deepening in his eyes.
Hector, however, did not open it there, but walked some hundred yards away, where he seated himself behind a large boulder. He then took out his case, lighted a cigarette, and, having removed his helmet so that the sun beat full on his face, leisurely proceeded to open the envelope.
"As I thought," he muttered; "the plot at last revealed; he's got it up for me this time and no mistake. But no matter; there must be some way out, and I'll find it."
He stretched himself flat on the ground, the cigarette between his teeth, and, closing his eyes, passed into semi-unconsciousness. A voice began to whisper in his ear.
The following was the scheme. Hector's force, composed of the 1st Lancers and two guns, was directed to escort a convoy of waggons to Tafelberg Farm, a distance of about six miles. Between him and his destination lay a high rugged ridge, the only openings in which were two narrow passes two miles apart, and by now assuredly guarded by Colonel Wicklow with his eight hundred infantrymen. Other way round there was none, save by a detour of some fifteen miles, and, even if the distance had not made such a turning movement prohibitive, the country on that side had been carefully marked "out of bounds."
The ridge itself Hector knew well, knew also that, save by the two passes, neither waggons nor even horses could hope to cross throughout its length; for many times on his solitary rides he had made the attempt on his Basuto pony, but had always been forced to desist. Only on hands and knees could a man scale those rocky sides, and even then the task was difficult, more particularly about midway between the two passes, where the ridge reached its highest point and was well-nigh precipitous.