"Where's Mortlock?"
"Lying over there, sir, where them men are. I've sent for the ambulance; it's comin' along the road now, sir. Cut about 'orrible is Mortlock, sir, 'is brains——"
"Oh, shut up, and give me a cigarette."
"Cigarette, 'oo's got a cigarette? The orfcer wants a cigarette. 'Ere y'are, sir."
"Get the troop mounted now, and tell the trumpeter to bring my horse."
"Better ride in the ambulance, sir, ye're faint-like."
"With Mortlock? No, thank you, Sergeant-Major. I'm all right, I tell you," getting up and promptly sitting down again. "Wait a minute, now I'm ready," and shaking off the Sergeant-Major's arm he walked slowly back to the troop.
"Three cheers for the orfcer," said a voice.
"Stop that and get mounted," was the surly answer, "right about wheel, walk, march."
The troop moved off, the ambulance following close in the rear, and in an hour's time they were passing under the walls of Fort Hussein. These were lined with soldiers in every species of undress, for the messenger despatched for the ambulance had made good use of his time; and all were anxious to see the corpse, which, from Private Wainwright's account, must be well worth inspection.