“Is he asleep somewhere about the walls?” I asked.
“No; I looked there,” was the reply. “He always snoozes up on the inner wall, just above the water-hole. There’s a place where a big stone has fallen out and no bullets can get at him. I looked there twice.”
“Hasn’t fallen down one of the holes, has he?” said Denham.
“Not he, sir,” replied the man, laughing. “He’d go about anywhere in the dark, looking like a bit o’ nothing, only you couldn’t see it in the darkness, and never knock against a thing. It’s his feet, I think; they always seem to know where to put theirselves. He wouldn’t tumble down any holes.”
“Keep a sharp lookout for him, and when you see him send him to me directly.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the man. “I dessay he’ll turn up in the course o’ the morning. He’s always hiding himself and coming again when you don’t expect it.”
“I say, Val,” cried Denham as soon as we were alone, “we didn’t reckon on this. Why, if he doesn’t turn up our plan’s done.”
“Not at all,” I said.
“Eh? What do you mean? We couldn’t go without him.”
“Indeed, but we could; and what’s more, we will,” I said firmly. “I would rather have had him with us; but we’re going to-night—if we can.”