“How are they to-night?” said Denham. “Quiet?”
“No, sir; they seem to have been having a good eat and drink. More wagons came up from their rear; so the man I relieved told me. It’s been a sort of feast, I think. Wouldn’t be a bad time for a good attack on the beggars, sir. The boys are, as one of them said, spoiling for a fight.”
“Let them wait a bit,” said Denham shortly. “It will come.”
“The sooner the better, sir,” said the sentry; and we went on as far as the next sentry, passing the stones where we had sat to sun ourselves. We talked with this second man about the Boers, received a similar account of the proceedings of the enemy, said “Good-night,” and then strolled back to the stones, to sit down for a few minutes, my heart beating harder than ever.
“Now,” said Denham at last, in a low tone of voice; “off with your rope, and give me one end. I’ll make your line fast to mine, while you secure the other end to that big stone. Tight, mind; I don’t want to fall sixty feet and break my neck.”
“Nor I,” was my reply. “Be sure of your knot, too.”
“Right.”
Then, in the silence, we each did our part of the task, ending by Denham letting the strong thin rope glide over the edge of the great stones which formed the breastwork. The next minute we stood listening to the sounds from the court, and narrowly watched for our sentries. Far out in the darkness a feeble light or two showed where a lantern burned in the Boer lines. Everything seemed to favour our design, even to the end, and I was breathing hard with excitement, waiting to begin. Just then a hand touched my arm and glided down over my wrist. I knew what it meant, and grasped Denham’s hand.
“Good luck to us!” he whispered. “I’ll go first and test the rope—hush! I will. As soon as I’m down I shall lie flat and hold on. Ready?”
“Yes.”