“He’d better not try!” said the Boer, with a meaning laugh, and he bore the jacket right away to where the sun was beating hotly upon the rock, where the next minute the garment was spread out.
“Talk about me having a ready wit in an emergency!” said Ingleborough merrily; “why, I’m a baby to you, West, my son! There: I’m proud of you.”
“Oh, but the risk!” whispered the young man. “That precious garment lying carelessly yonder!”
“Carelessly? That’s just the way to keep it safe. Who’d ever think of examining the coat lying out there?”
“The first man who goes near it!”
“The first rogue, and he’d only feel in the pockets. But there’s no fear: that sentry would fire at any thief who tried to steal! That’s safe enough!”
“I wish I could think so!” replied West. “The first thing when they come will be to ask me what I have done with my jacket.”
“Pooh! In that loose, dark flannel shirt they’ll never think of it. I thought they’d have been here, though, before now.”
They had to wait for some little time still, for the Boers had gathered about the new-comer, forming a half-circle, evidently to listen while Anson talked to them earnestly, his gesticulations suggesting to Ingle borough, rightly or wrongly, that he was describing the arrangements for defence made by the British garrison at Kimberley, which he had so lately left; and as he spoke every now and then the listeners nodded, slapped the stocks of their rifles, turned to make remarks to one another, and gave the speaker a hearty cheer.
“Oh, you beauty!” growled Ingleborough. “I can’t hear a word you say; but I’m as certain as if I were close up that you’re telling those chuckle-headed Dutch that all they’ve got to do is to march straight in and take Kimberley, for they’ll find it as easy as kissing their hands.”