“Yes; your mouth waters for the stores, Sergeant.”
“Maybe, sir; but if I was you I should go straight to the Colonel and tell him.”
“So as to be laughed at for a fool,” said Denham. “The chief’s in no laughing humour, sir,” said the Sergeant stolidly. “He ought to be in hospital with that cut on the leg he got; but he won’t give up, though I’ve seen him turn whitey-brown and come out all over the face with big drops. That means pain. No; he won’t laugh.”
“Then he’ll growl at us, and tell us to be off for a pair of idiots.”
“Well, I’ll risk it,” I said firmly.
“Will you? Young fellow,” cried Denham, “don’t you presume on my friendliness and forget that you’re a private in my troop.”
“It’s my duty to let the Colonel know,” I said warmly.
“Yes, through your superior officer. Well, look here; perhaps you’re right. Let’s go to him at once.”
We descended after another look at the Boer lines, and found the Colonel resting against a block of granite, with his injured leg lying in a bed of sand. He listened attentively, after Denham’s introduction, to all I had to say. Then he sat in perfect silence, frowning, and tugging at his long moustache. I was as uncomfortable as ever I had been, and wished I had not come; but soon a change came over me, for the Colonel spoke.
“Capital,” he said sharply. “But—”