“Yes; I remember telling the Colonel so,” said Bracy eagerly.
“Well, it has turned out all right; but he needn’t have told me, for we could not have crossed, as far as I can see.”
“We did,” said Drummond, laughing; “and brought in these three fellows, too.”
“Yes; but I wouldn’t holloa too soon,” said the officer addressed. “We’re not safe yet. Look yonder; they’re swarming down that gorge, and we must race for it, or they’ll cut us off. Forward, my lads.”
Ten minutes later there was a halt and a clinking rattle, as the order was given to fix bayonets ready for a strong body of the hill-men, who had crossed the shallows lower down and were coming on to dispute their way.
“Why doesn’t Graves send out another company to cover us?” panted Roberts. “We shall be cut off after all.”
The words had hardly passed his lips when—crash!—there was a tremendous volley from their right front, which checked the enemy’s advance, the white-coated hill-men hesitating. The officer in command seized the opportunity, and a volley was fired by the rescue company, the men cheering as they dashed on with bristling bayonets. That was enough: the enemy turned and fled, their speed increased by another volley from the covering company; and ten minutes later the fugitives were marching along coolly, protected by the fire from the walls of the fort, where they were directly after being heartily shaken by the hand, the sally-port clanging to in their rear.
“Quite enough for one day,” said Drummond.
“Yes,” said Bracy grimly; “that’s having what Gedge called a nice long walk.”
“Yes,” said Roberts; “with a swim thrown in.”