“Neither do I,” said Dick, “for my head is dreadful.”
“Poor old lad! I am sorry; but you must grin and bear it. I say, though, what about the Wazir’s sword? We ought to have brought that.”
“I told one of the men to take it, sheath, belt, and all, and put it in the wagon with Bob Hanson. He ought to have it.”
“Humph!” growled Wyatt, and he was silent for a few moments as he rode on, watching the approaching enemy.
“How many are there of them?” said Dick.
“Seven or eight hundred, my lad. Plenty of work cut out. I say, I told you I was spoiling for a fight.”
“You did.”
“Well, I’ve had all I wanted for one day, and I’m getting stiff, but we shall have to go through the rest of it. We’ve only one chance.”
“What’s that?”
“To go at them and let them see the stuff we’re made of. We shall be all right again as soon as we get warm.”