Within half-an-hour the little firing-party overtook the rear of the column, and Roberts halted till they came up to him.
“Well, Sergeant?” he said.
“All right now, sir,” said Gee, who looked what the men called ugly. “I think we’ve brought ’em all down.”
“You’re not sure, of course?”
“Well, pretty nigh, sir. There ain’t been a shot since.”
“Good. Be on the lookout. I hate for our poor fellows to be harassed like this.”
“It’s horrid, sir; but, begging your pardon, sir, how’s Mr Bracy?”
“Bad, Gee, bad. I’m afraid he is shot through the lungs.”
Sergeant Gee’s brow went into a mass of puckers and frowns, and there was the peculiar sound of one grinding his teeth together, as the man tramped on behind his officer for a few minutes before speaking again.
“Beg pardon, sir; there’s that Bill Gedge. Is he much hurt?”