Bracy made a gesture, but the Colonel checked him.
“Yes; I know what you would say,” he continued: “that dangerous or no, you would do your duty. I know you would. I have perfect faith in my officers; but this is a matter of conscience on my side. Bracy, I find that our ammunition will not last a month. Once that is gone, we are no longer the superiors of the enemy. The bayonet is a splendid weapon; but these hill-tribes are magnificent swordsmen, and when, many times outnumbering us as they do, they come on to a hand-to-hand fight, adding their reckless religious fervour to their natural bravery, they must master us in the end; and that means taking the fort, and—you know what would follow.”
Bracy bowed his head; he could not speak.
“An indiscriminate massacres a horrible death to every man and woman in the place.”
“Horrible, sir,” cried Bracy excitedly. “Oh, Colonel Graves, surely things are not so bad as you think!”
The Colonel smiled.
“You ought to know me by this time, Bracy,” he said quietly. “I don’t think I am a man likely to raise bugbears.”
“No, no, sir! I beg your pardon.”
“That will do,” said the Colonel quietly. “When you leave me, be prepared to start. You must not confide in your nearest friend; go about your work cheerfully, and as if only to bear a despatch, but conscious the while that our lives here depend upon your success. You understand?”
“Yes,” said Bracy gravely, “I understand; and if I do not bring the help, sir, it is because—”