A few minutes later, as Sir George White and his staff rode on to the nearest parade-ground and the guard there presented arms to their commanding-officer, a man slipped out from the back of the hut, and, having peered in all directions, struck the wall with his rifle. Jack fixed his glasses upon him and waited. Almost immediately two men emerged, and having looked about them suspiciously, fell in, and, shouldering their weapons, marched off towards the heights of Caesar’s Camp, with the one who had first left the hut walking by their side.
“Well, that’s rummy!” exclaimed Jack aloud. “What can they be doing? I suppose they are going to relieve the pickets, or the guards over the guns. But it is an unusual time. Of course I know that the colonials take their turn, but they are generally marched up to change guard just before the evening parade. I’ll just watch, and at the same time keep out of sight, for they will pass close by me.”
He promptly entered his tent, and, lying full-length on the ground, lifted the flap, and again watched the volunteers through his field-glasses. Soon they were close at hand, and though it was already getting dusk, something about the figure of the officer caught his notice, and that, combined with the peculiar manner in which he threw out his feet, set Jack wondering who he was.
“I’m sure I’ve had something to do with that fellow before,” he muttered. “Who can he be?”
Jack puzzled his brains, but could not solve the problem, and was on the point of giving it up in disgust when the merest chance disclosed it to him. There was a sentry standing in front of an iron hut used as the paymaster’s office, and as the volunteers got opposite him, and just in front of Jack, the watchful man hailed them and shouted: “Halt! who goes there?” saluting the party at the same moment by shouldering his rifle.
He was evidently a young soldier, and eager to be considered wide-awake, or else he would have remembered that it was already dusk and no salute was required. Still it served Jack’s purpose, for a second later “Eyes right!” and “Gun picket!” was shouted out in a voice which made him tingle from head to foot and tremble with excitement, for the voice and the figure together told him that it was none other than Piet Maartens, his old enemy, who had so nearly proved the death of him in the Transvaal magazine.
“Good heavens!” Jack exclaimed in astonishment. “What does it mean? Can he have come over to our side to fight against the Boers? No, that’s impossible. He must be a spy, and, by George! those other men with him must belong to the enemy too.”
Jack sprang to his feet and gazed after the squad of volunteers. Then he thought for a few moments, and, having determined what to do, he dived into the tent again, and, snatching up his rifle, ran across to call Guy Richardson.
“Quick, Guy!” he said, pushing his head into the hut in which Guy and Mr Hunter lived. “Come out here! I want you both! Bring your rifles!”
An instant later all were walking rapidly towards the heights of Caesar’s Camp, the southern boundary of the defences of Ladysmith, and a position of the most vital importance to the garrison, for with the Boers in possession of it their guns would have forced our troops to surrender.