“What a breakfast!” groaned Denham half-an-hour later.
“Never mind,” I said; “we’ll get something better, perhaps, to-morrow.”
“That we will, even if we commando it at the point of the sword, which is another way of saying we shall steal it. I say, though, the thought of all this is sending new life into me.”
“I feel the same,” I said; then we sat back waiting till the doctor visited us, examined our injuries, and expressed himself satisfied.
“Another week,” he said, “and then I shall dismiss you both. Nature and care will do the rest.”
The doctor then left us; and, watching for an opportunity, we called to one of the men passing the hospital, and told him to find the black. However, ten minutes later we found that this might have been saved, for the Sergeant paid us a morning call, and on leaving promised to go round by the horses and send Joeboy to us.
“What news of the messengers?” we asked. The Sergeant shook his head sadly, and replied, “Don’t ask me, gentlemen. It looks bad—very bad. The Boers ain’t soldiers, but they’re keeping their lines wonderfully tight.”
“That’s our fault,” said Denham. “We gave them such lessons by our night attack and the capture of the six wagons and teams.”
“I say,” said the Sergeant, and he looked from one to the other.
“Well, what do you say?” cried Denham.