“We seem to be going into the most dangerous place,” whispered Bracy, with his breath coming thickly.
“And that’s the very place they’ll never think we should hide in, sir, if they were likely to think we were going to hide. No, sir: their keen eyes ’ll just make out them two ’elmets, and they’ll think o’ nothing else but driving their long knives into them as wears ’em, from behind. I do hope we shall hear ’em blunting the points against, the stones.”
“Have you everything?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then, forward! Go fifty paces slowly over the snow. I shall follow close behind you in your steps.”
The snow yielded, so that they were knee-deep, but it was still loose and so sand-like in its grains that as each foot was withdrawn the icy particles flowed together again into each freshly-made hole.
Five minutes later the adventurous pair lay softly down, and rolled over and over a few times, before lying prone upon their chests, each with his head towards the invisible helmets, and near enough to whisper or touch one another with the hand. Their rifles lay by their sides, with the cartouche-boxes handy: and, in case of a close attack, their revolvers were in the right sides of their belts, half dragged round to the back, while each held his dagger-like bayonet in his band.
“Do you feel the cold, Gedge?” whispered Bracy.
“Cold, sir? Why, I’m as hot as hot. This work’s too warm for a fellow to feel the cold. Do you, sir?”
“No; my face burns as if with fever, and every nerve tingles with excitement. There, we must not even whisper again.”