“None. The elephant-guns are to follow, but not for a week. We shall have it all our own way, and it will mean promotion, I hope. Perhaps I shall get my troop; and if I do you’ll come with me, Dick?”
“That would mean leaving this troop?” said Dick, aghast.
“Of course. But you and I would soon make another as smart.”
“Think so?” said Dick thoughtfully.
“Oh, yes. I don’t profess to be clever, but it always seems to me that if two fellows make up their minds to do a thing and stick to it—if it’s possible—they’ll do it.”
“Yes,” said Dick still more thoughtfully, “I suppose so.”
It was late before he lay down to rest that night, for there was more to do in preparations than he had anticipated. For instance, there was the letter home, announcing his departure up-country on service—a letter which took a long while to write, and set him thinking, taking, as it did, much of the holiday aspect and excitement out of the coming trip. For now he began to realise that it meant something more than show. He was going to face the realities of a soldier’s life, and the possibilities of his never coming back alive.
Dick did not go to sleep quite so easily that night, and when the bugle was sounded he seemed to have hardly closed his eyes.
But there was no time for thought in the early grey of the morning. The bustle and hurry of preparation was going on all round. There was the trampling of horses, the clink of spurs, and the rumble and rattle of gun-wheels, limbers, and ammunition-wagons.
Soon after there was a familiar whinnying sound outside, and he ran to the window, to look down and see Ram Dad in spotless white walking Burnouse up and down, ready for his master.