“Ah!” cried the Boer slowly and thoughtfully. “Yes, I see. But you were caught, and I can do nothing, boys. Moriarty will have you shot in the morning when he comes back, and begin to rage because it is not done. Well, life’s very short, and we must all die. I’m going to fight to-night, and perhaps I shall start on the long journey too, for your men fight well. God knows best, lads; and there is no fighting yonder—all is peace.”
He bowed his head down and went out of the wagon without a word. When Denham asked me a few minutes later what the Boer had said, my voice in reply sounded hoarse and strange, quite unlike my usual tones.
We were now in darkness. The coffee was cold; the cakes lay untouched. We were both sunk in a deep interval of musing; but Denham broke the silence at last.
“Then we have another night of life, Val,” he remarked.
“Yes,” I replied; “and then the end.”
“Look here,” he said thoughtfully, after he had taken up the coffee-tin and drunk; “that Boer said that he was going over yonder to-night to fight, and that perhaps he would be where we were.”
“Yes—dead,” was my reply.
“Perhaps, Val. What do the doctors say?—‘While there’s life there’s hope.’”
“I see no hope for us,” I said gloomily.
“I do,” Denham whispered in a low, earnest tone. “We’ve been too ready to give up hope.”