“To hear them cuttin’ and stabbin’ at the rocks, sir, and blunting their knives.”
“Oh, I see!”
“Wonder whether they chopped our ’elmets, sir. Would you mind ordering me to see if there’s any bits left?”
“The task is of no good,” said Bracy. “But we’ll walk back to the place and try if we can find them. Take out your revolver. No. Fix bayonets—we could use them better now.”
There was a faint clicking, and then, with their rifles levelled, the pair marched laboriously off the snow, and then cautiously felt their way among the stones, Bracy’s main object being to find out for certain that there were no sentries left. The noise they could not help making among the stones proved this directly, and they unwittingly, in spite of the darkness, went straight to the spot where they had set up the sticks and helmets, when Gedge uttered a low cry full of excitement.
“Why, they never come across ’em, sir. I’ve got ’em, standing here just as we left ’em. Well, I’m blessed! I know the difference by the feel. That’s yours, sir, and this is mine. Talk about luck! Ha! I feel better now. Woolly busbies is all very well, but they don’t look soldierly. I could have made some right enough, but we should ha’ wanted to take ’em off before we got back to the fort.”
“A splendid bit of luck, Gedge,” said Bracy as he drew the strap of his helmet beneath his chin. “Now for our next step. What do you think?”
“Wittles, sir. Can’t think o’ nothing else just now. I should say, with what we’ve got to do, the next thing’s to begin stoking before our fires go out.”