“Oh, murder!” he cried. “My poor feet ain’t froze hard, are they?”
“I pray not,” said Bracy excitedly.
“’Cause I can’t stand. But, hallo! sir; what game’s this? They’re a-firing at us, and coming up over the snow.”
“No, no, it can’t be!” cried Bracy wildly. “No tribes-men could fire volleys like that.”
“Course not, sir. Hoorray! then the Colonel’s sent a couple o’ comp’nies to help us.”
“Impossible!” cried Bracy. “Hark! there is the reply to the firing. Yes; and another volley. I almost thought I could see a flash.”
“Did yer, sir? Oh, don’t talk; do listen, sir. There they go. There must be a big fight going on down there.”
“Then friends have attacked the enemy in camp—advanced upon them so as to catch them before daylight.”
“Oh! they might ha’ waited till it was light enough for us to see, sir. Mr Bracy, sir, don’t, pray don’t say it’s reg’lars, because if it ain’t I couldn’t stand it now. I should go down and blubber like a great gal.”
“It is a force of regulars, my lad,” cried Bracy, whose voice sounded as if he were choking. “Friends are there below in the valley. I know: the Colonel must have been badly beaten at the fort.”