“Yes, that’s what I feel,” sighed the Doctor, “and, Heaven knows, we don’t want any more patients. Must be content with what coolness we get at night.”
“And that’s glorious,” said the Major, wiping his wet brow.
“Delightful,” added Captain Roberts. “It’s the making of poor old Bracy. He seems to hang his head and droop more and more every day, till the sun goes down, and to begin to pick up again with the first breath that comes down from between the two big peaks there—what do they call them—Erpah and Brum?”
“Ha! wish it was coming now,” said the Doctor; “iced and pure air, to sweep right down the valley and clear away all the hot air, while it cools the sides of the precipices.”
“Why don’t you let me go, Colonel!” said Drummond suddenly. “I want to get some ice badly for poor old Bracy. Six mules, six drivers, and a dozen of our boys. Oh, I could do it. Let me go, sir.”
The Colonel shook his head, and every day at the hottest time Drummond proposed the same thing; till on the last day, after gradually growing weaker in his determination, urged as he was on all sides by the sufferers in hospital, the wan looks of the ladies, and the longings of the men, the Colonel said:
“Well, Mr Drummond, I’ll sleep on it to-night, and if I come to a determination favourable to the proposition, you shall go; but not alone. One of my officers must go with you.”
“Glad to have him, sir,” cried the subaltern eagerly. “Whom will you send, sir?”
“I’ll volunteer, sir,” said Roberts quietly.
“Good,” said the Colonel; “so it will be as well for you and Drummond here to quietly select your men and the mules with their drivers, plus tools for cutting out the ice-like compressed snow. If I decide against it there will be no harm done.”