Still there was no reply.
“Ah, you won’t tell me! Call my cousin—no,” added the boy sharply, “don’t—pray don’t. Speak to me yourselves; I can bear anything now.”
“You had better tell him, Dan, lad. He must know.”
“Can’t, messmate,” came in a hoarse whisper. “You are a bigger chap than me; you tell him, for you are about right: he ought to know.”
“Yes, I ought to know, Buck,” said the boy softly, and he winced with agony as he tried to raise his left hand, but let it fall directly and caught at the big fellow’s wrist with his right. “Now tell me, or tell me if I am right, for I can think now—that cloud has gone. The blacks attacked us last night?”
“Ay, my lad. They stole a march on us.”
“And my father?”
“I dunno, my lad,” said Buck hoarsely.
“The doctor, then?”
“Nay, Mr Mark, sir; it was all so dark, and such rough work, that I heard him shouting to us to come on, and that was all.”