"Move as quick as you can; it's close on eight, and Gabriel will be thereabouts by one. There's Fellowes' lot getting together now. I'm going on with the cavalry; join me when you've finished by that tree there. Come, Bobby," and Graeme galloped off, threading his way through the muddle of fallen tents and corpses, the Guards roaring a welcome as he passed. When clear of the ruined camp he joined Maitland, the cavalry commander.
"What sport, Maitland?"
"A few, sir; nothing much."
"No prisoners, I hope."
"None, sir."
"Come on then," and the two rode off together, the cavalry following in line of brigade mass, the ground being open and going good.
The plain crossed, the force halted and dismounted, Graeme, Maitland, and the two A.D.C.'s ascending the ridge, from the top of which the country could be seen for miles ahead and around.
The line of hills—on the highest point of which they now stood—was about five miles in length, rocky in parts, and sparsely covered with trees. Through the centre, close beside them, lay the road to the north, along which, fifteen miles distant, Gabriel was known to be advancing; while far away to the left could be seen a double line of trees, marking the course of the Western Road. In front of them spread a wide open plain, similar to that they had just traversed, but crossed, parallel to their front and some two thousand yards away, by a brook, or small river, with steep, overhanging banks. Towards this the ground fell gently, subsequently rising till it reached another ridge, four miles away, which was also crossed about its centre by the Northern Road. The passage over the brook was by a small wooden bridge.
To the right and left the country was open for miles; the left, however, being scantily covered with trees, which became thicker until they formed a dense woodland, and somewhere in this Roy was now lying, waiting for Michael.
Graeme surveyed the scene through his glasses, and regarded for some minutes the ridge ahead, where a faint twinkle could now and again be seen.