“So it is. You can whiff ’em, too! We get too much camel here. I wish the wind ’ud change.”
The camel, that useful but detested animal, grunts and grumbles all night long, and the soldier blesses him in picturesque language. The fact that, moreover, “’e smells most awful vile” does not tend to increase his popularity.
“I wish you wouldn’t spoil my beauty-sleep whenever you have a nightmare,” Paterson sleepily grumbled, as he rolled over and became blissfully unconscious.
But Ted was restless and could not sleep. The camels kept up their serenade until he longed to sally forth with a whip. Presently a footstep was heard outside and the tent-flaps parted. Ted rose to a sitting posture and laid hold of his pistol.
“Who’s there?” he demanded.
“‘For Valour’!” came the cool reply. “Why, my V.C. winner, you’re as frightened as a babu! Get up! we’re going on a daur.”
It was Claude Boldre. Giving Alec a joyous kick, Ted hurriedly dressed and went out. The sun had not yet risen, but the camp was fitfully lighted by the wood-fires, around which half-clad native servants squatted and shivered. Others were running to and fro, aimlessly to all appearance, and the horses had begun to neigh. Away to the right he could make out against the walls of white canvas the dark forms of Govind Singh and Hira Singh superintending the preparations of their men.
“Come along, Ted, and have some breakfast,” said Claude, appearing from behind the tents. “Your horse is being looked after. We start in half an hour.”
Linking his arm in Ted’s he marched him into the colonel’s tent, calling to Paterson to follow. As they entered, Colonel Boldre looked up from his map, nodded, and motioned towards the breakfast-table. The coffee-pot was steaming thereon, and the boys did not hesitate. The tent was not more than a dozen feet square, and there was only one spare chair. Claude sat on the pallet-bed and Ted on a trunk.
“Are we going to Pindijang?” asked the latter, “and if so, where is it?”