“It seems to be a general advance of the enemy,” he said, with his eyes close to his glass. “They’re coming steadily on at a walk. Yes; wagons and all.”
“That doesn’t mean an attack, sir,” said the Sergeant.
“I don’t know what it means,” said Denham. “Yes, I think I do. They’ve got some notion into their heads that we mean to break through the ring, and they are going to close up, to make it more solid.”
“They think we’re getting tired of it, sir, and that when we see them loaded with plenty of good things we shall surrender.”
“Perhaps it’s out of kindness, Briggs,” said Denham, laughing. “They want to tempt us into making another raid because the distance will be shorter for us to go.”
“Then I’m afraid they’ll be disappointed, sir, for the Colonel isn’t likely to risk losing any of his men while we’ve got all those bullocks to eat.”
“I don’t know what to make of it,” said Denham; then, thoughtfully: “It looks to me like some bit of cunning—a sort of ruse to get within rifle-shot. Look how steadily they’re coming on.”
That was plain enough to us all, line after line of horsemen advancing as regularly as if they had been well-drilled cavalry; and for my part, inexperienced as I was in such matters, I could not help thinking that the wagons were being pushed forward on purpose to afford cover for their best marksmen, and that in a short time the bullets would begin to be pinging and buzzing about our ears.
I can’t say what the Colonel thought; but almost directly the trumpet rang out, and we were cantered back, to file steadily into the great courtyard again, with the men grumbling and muttering among themselves at having been made what they called fools of.
“I tell you what it is, Val,” said Denham as soon as he had another chance to speak; “I believe I’ve got it.”