“Looks quite nice,” said Wyatt, “and no fear of an alarm.”
“Alarm—no!” said Dick, laughing.
“I was thinking of being in the enemy’s country, with a force ten or twenty times as strong as our own on the qui vive to wipe us out. Keeps you from feeling sleepy, my lad.”
“Have you ever been in that position?” asked Dick.
“Often,” was the laconic reply. Then, after a pause, “Perhaps we may be next month.”
It was a long, monotonous march, with the customary incidents: troubles about water, native servants breaking down with illness, real or fancied—oftener, the doctor said, the latter. Then the dreary plains began to give place to hilly country, the air was less heavy, the woodlands more beautiful; and, after a week or two of this, hills began to appear in the distance—hills that would in Europe have been dubbed big mountains.
The marches now were for the most part along winding valleys, with sparkling rivers near the roads, which became more difficult for the guns and wagons: but this was balanced by the beauty of the scenery and the invigorating nature of the air.
“Fellow can breathe out here, and Hulton says Soojeepur is more beautiful and higher up than this.”
“This valley is beautiful enough for anything,” said Dick as they rode on one evening. “Why, there ought to be tigers and leopards in these jungles.”
“Lots,” said Wyatt.