“So would I, Samson,” said Fred, smiling.
“And them enemies with my brother are all riding comfortably back to feast and sleep; and while we’re camping cold and miserable on the hills, they’ll all be singing and rejoicing.”
“I hope they are thinking more of the poor wounded fellows they will have to pick up on their way back. Hallo! Look! Steady there. Halt!”
He passed the word received from the front, for half a mile ahead, on one of the hills, a scout was signalling.
Fresh men were sent forward, and as the signals evidently meant danger ahead, the general hurriedly took up a position of advantage, one which gave him the choice of advance or retreat.
“Dismount!” was the next order, so as to rest the horses as much as possible.
“More fighting,” said Samson, in a low, grumbling tone. “Well, if one don’t get enough to eat, one get’s enough hard knocks, and I never felt miserly over them. Look here, Master Fred, are we going to have another scrummage?”
“Hush! Yet, I think so.”
“So do I, sir,” said Samson, taking up his belt another hole. “Very well, then; I’m that hungry, that I’m regularly savage now, and this time I mean to hit with all my might.”
“Silence, there!” said a deep stern voice, and General Hedley rode along the regiment, scrutinising his little force, and waiting the return of the men sent out before deciding whether he should make a bold advance or a cautious retreat.