“Keep a bright look-out!” Jack whispered, with his mouth close to Guy’s ear. “There must be a guard somewhere close at hand.”
“What is that?” Guy answered hoarsely, pointing to the left. “Surely those are men wrapped in blankets and asleep. Yes, I am sure of it.”
“Stay here a moment, and I will see,” said Jack; and a second later he was gone in the darkness, and was creeping towards the ill-defined figures which Guy had pointed out.
It was dangerous work, but he had had a good grounding in the duties of a scout, and now he put into practice all the cunning that Tom Salter and his own quick wits had taught him. Lying almost flat upon the ground, he wriggled his body between the boulders and rapidly advanced. A few moments later he was sufficiently close, and, cautiously standing up behind a jagged mass of rock, peeped over the top.
The sight he saw filled him with satisfaction, for, wrapped from head to foot in blankets, were ten men fast asleep on the side of the hill.
“We ought to get past those fellows safely,” he muttered, “and if there are no more of them we might even be able to make a fight of it. By George, there are their rifles stacked a few feet away from their heads! It is worth the risk, and I will chance it.”
Once more crawling forward, he writhed amongst the boulders, and was soon within easy reach of the weapons, but with a boulder between himself and the recumbent figures. At that moment, despite all his care, the butt of his rifle struck against the rock and gave rise to a sharp sound.
Jack immediately lay flat on the ground, and, placing his thumb on the magazine catch, prepared to shoot a cartridge into the breech, and keep the Boers from taking possession of their Mausers.
It was evident that one of the men was a light sleeper, for at the sound of the butt striking the boulder he sat up on his elbow and looked suspiciously round. Then he rose to his feet, shook off the blankets, and strode towards the stack of rifles. Jack covered him and prepared to shoot, but, satisfied that here there was nothing wrong, the Boer again stopped, and then, evidently still suspicious, climbed up the hill to the gun.
Jack followed him, and again hid himself behind a boulder some ten feet away. As he did so, another ghostly-looking figure approached the Boer, and demanded, in somewhat quavering tones, what was the matter. Jack had no difficulty in following his words, for once again, with a start of surprise and an angry snap of his teeth which boded ill for the man should Jack find himself opposed to him, he recognised the voice of the fat little German, Hans Schloss, who had shown himself such a bitter hater of the English.