Chapter Twenty One.
Everything comes to the man who waits.
What seemed like a couple of the weariest hours they had ever passed went slowly by, with everything quite still in the laager; and at last West, who was lying on his back, side by side with his companion, whispered: “They’re not going on patrol to-night. We must creep out and escape on foot.”
“Without knowing the way through the entrance among the rocks, and with dozens of sentries about? Can’t be done!”
“Pst!” whispered West, for his quick hearing had detected the approach of someone, and directly after a light was flashed in under the tilt, a little whispering followed after the dull rays were shut off, and once more there was silence.
The pair lay a good five minutes without attempting to move or speak, and then West whispered:
“Two sentries.”
“No: one and Fathead.”