“Oh dear!” he groaned; “ain’t it dark! Reg’lar fog, and cold as cold. Makes a chap shiver. I dunno how it is. When I’m along with him I feel as bold as a lion. I ain’t afeared o’ anything. I’d foller him anywheres, and face as many as he’d lead me agen. ’Tain’t braggin’, for I’ve done it; but I’m blessed now if I don’t feel a reg’lar mouse—a poor, shiverin’ wet mouse with his back up, and ready to die o’ fright through being caught in a trap, just as the poor little beggars do, and turns it up without being hurt a bit. I can’t help it; I’m a beastly coward; and I says it out aloud for any one to bear. That’s it—a cussed coward, and I can’t help it, ’cause I was born so. He’s gone, and I shan’t never find him agen, and there’s nothing left for me to do but sneak back to the fort, and tell the Colonel as we did try, but luck was agen us.
“Nay, I won’t,” he muttered. “I’ll never show my face there again, even if they call it desertion, unless I can get to the Ghoorkha Colonel and tell him to bring up his toothpick brigade.
“Oh, here, I say, Bill, old man,” he said aloud after a pause, during which he listened in vain for some signal from his officer, “this here won’t do. This ain’t acting like a sojer o’ the Queen. Standin’ still here till yer get yerself froze inter a pillar o’ salt. You’ve got to fetch your orficer just as much now as if if hailed bullets and bits o’ rusty ragged iron. Here goes. Pull yourself together, old man! Yer wanted to have a slide, so now’s your time.”
Grasping his rifle, he squatted down on his heels, and laid the weapon across his knees preparatory to setting himself in motion, on the faint chance of gliding down to where Bracy would have gone before him.
“Would you have thought it so steep that he could have slithered away like that? But there it is,” he muttered. “Now then, here goes.” Letting himself go, he began to glide slowly upon his well-nailed shoes; then the speed increased, and he would the next minute have been rushing rapidly down the slope had he not driven in his heels and stopped himself.
“Well, one can put on the brake when one likes,” he muttered; “but he couldn’t ha’ gone like this or I should have heard him making just the same sort o’ noise. He had no time to sit down; he must ha’ gone on his side or his back, heads up or heads down, and not so very fast. If I go down like this I shall be flying by him, and p’raps never stop till I get to the end of the snow. I know—I’ll lie down.”
Throwing himself over on his side, he gave a thrust with his hands and began to glide, but very slowly, and in a few seconds the wool of his poshtin adhered so firmly to the smooth surface that he was brought up and had to start himself again.
This took place twice, and he slowly rose to his feet.
“Wants a good start,” he muttered, and he was about to throw himself down when a fresh thought crossed his brain.
“I don’t care,” he said aloud, as if addressing some one who had spoken; “think what yer like, I ain’t afraid to pitch myself down and go skidding to the bottom, and get up with all the skin off! I sez he ain’t down there. I never heerd him go, and there’s something more than I knows on. It is a fit, and he’s lying up yonder. Bill Gedge, lad, you’re a-going wrong.”