"Ruddy oceans, cully," was the reassuring answer, "and a limon squash for the rivrend Grassey 'ere."
Meanwhile, Graeme and Haslopp were struggling painfully on. More than once the burden slipped, and but for the "strong man's" assistance would have rolled to the ground, while, to add to their difficulties, Hector's horse had been shot through the neck and was trying his best to bolt. From a canter the pace had fallen to a trot, and finally a walk, bullets and chunks of telegraph-wire shaving them at every step. Fortunately, however, the enemy, the party having once moved off, made no further attempt at pursuit. Possibly they deemed it hopeless, more probably the sight of the troop in rear deterred them; but whatever the reason, they stopped where they were, contenting themselves with shooting at the retreating horsemen from behind their rocks. Still, it was a weary journey, and Graeme's arms were numb with the strain and his brain reeling with the smell of sweat and blood, when at length the firing slackened and then, save for an occasional shot, ceased altogether. Now, but half conscious, yet clutching his burden the tighter, Graeme toiled on, till at last, mingling with the fast-increasing roar in his brain, the thud of galloping hoofs was heard approaching. Louder and louder it sounded, and then round a bend in the road ahead appeared the sturdy figure of Sergeant-Major Stocks, with the troop behind him.
Seemingly miles away, Graeme heard the shout of "'tion" followed by "Carry lance," and then the white road seemed to rear up and smite him in the face. He reeled, fell forward on his horse's neck, hung there for a moment, and then, still gripping the corpse, rolled over sideways, Haslopp supporting the double burden till help arrived, when he rode quietly back to his former place in the rear rank.
* * * * *
"Stand 'im on his 'ead, Major; always keep a bloke's 'ead wot's fainted lower than 'is 'eels."
"Take yer 'orse, Cobble, and 'urry up the ambulance. Tell 'em the orfcer's dead."
"Do nothing of the kind, Cobble. I'm all right; fetch me a water-bottle."
"Water-bottle, water-bottle," from many voices, "'oo's got a water-bottle? 'Ere y'are, sir."
"Send the men away, Sergeant-Major, what the devil are they staring at?"
"No business to be 'ere at all, sir. Be off, all of you, at once; never seen an orfcer before? Get back to yer 'orses sharp."