The mischief was done, for there was the tramp of feet, and directly after a sergeant and his men stopped opposite Fred’s tent.
“Must have been somewhere here,” said the sergeant, in a deep voice.
“Yes,” said Fred, stepping to the tent opening; “it was I, sergeant. I thought I heard some one call.”
“No, sir; all’s well. Good night, sir.”
“Good night.”
“You nearly did it that time, Master Fred,” whispered Samson. “What made you holloa like that?”
“You, sir. How came you here?”
“Slit a hole in the guard tent, and crept out; that’s all, sir. Tent walls are soft enough. Now, then, are you ready?”
“Ready? Yes—no—what can we do?”
“What you said, sir.”