“I’ll try,” I said; and Denham was about to turn his back to me when we heard a sound behind us—that is to say, at the front of the wagon—which we knew to be caused by one of the sentries looking in. It soon ceased; but just as I was going to fix my teeth in the thong which bound my companion’s wrists there came another noise at the foot, and then again there was silence. But not so at a short distance, for we could hear whispered orders plainly enough as we lay still, followed by the tramp of horses’ feet, and now and then the clink of bit or buckle, which gave ample intimation that the Boers were slowly making an advance, not to invest the fort more closely in a contracted ring, but, as far as we could make out, in our direction.
“They’re marching in troops, I believe,” whispered Denham, “and they must be making for the gateway. Then they’ll dismount and deliver an attack. They mean to take the place by assault.”
“And we are to go through the agony of lying here and listening all the while, perfectly helpless. Oh Denham, they’ll never carry the place—will they?”
“Not unless it’s quite a surprise,” he replied. “Oh no,” he added more confidently; “our lads will be too smart for that.”
“They’ll try hard,” I said, “and fail, losing a great number of men, and they’ll come back at daybreak mad with rage.”
“And shoot us,” said Denham coolly. “That’s it.”
“Let me try at your knots now.”
“No. Listen; the sentries are coming in again.”
He was right; for, as if suspicious, the sentries climbed in, four strong, two standing with rifles at the ready, while the others stripped down the top rug and carefully examined our wrists and ankles, then spread the karosse over us once more, uttering grunts of satisfaction as they did so.
Alone again, we lay listening for the movements of the Boer troops: but the sounds had nearly died out.