“Well, yes. Being in such a pickle as this sets a man sharpening his wits to try and make them keen.”
“Of course. What are you going to do?”
“Wait a bit and see!” replied Ingleborough coolly. “I’m sharpening still.”
West turned away impatiently, to go, stooping as low as he could, towards his pony, which was straggling away, and bring it back to the bushes which had helped to hide them all the day, after which they sat in silence for about an hour, until it was quite plain that the night was as dark as it was likely to be. Then in a nervous excited way he turned to Ingleborough again.
“Yes,” said the latter, without waiting for West to speak; “it will grow no darker unless we wait hours for the moon to set, and by that time I hope we shall be in Mafeking.”
“What do you mean to do then?”
“Mount and ride steadily on at a gentle canter till we get in touch with that ammunition train.”
“But we shall be challenged by their rear-guard.”
“Perhaps,” said Ingleborough coolly; “perhaps not. I reckon on getting pretty close up without. If we are challenged, I want you to do as I tell you.”
“Of course,” replied West. “Anything to fulfil our task!”