“So do we,” said Bracy; “but it must take time.”
“Don’t believe that any one else thinks as you do,” said Drummond sulkily; and they toiled on in silence till they came near the side of the falling water, whose rush was loud enough to drown their approach; and here they all seated themselves on the edge of the mere shelf of rock, trampled by many generations of sheep, dangled their legs over the perpendicular side, and listened to the music of the waters, as they let their eyes wander over the lovely landscape of tree, rock, and fall.
The scene was so peaceful that it was hard to believe that they were in the valley through whose rugged mazes the warlike tribes had streamed to besiege the fort; and Bracy was just bending forward to pick a lovely alpine primula, when he sniffed softly and turned to whisper to his companions.
“Do you smell that?” he said.
“Eh? Oh, yes; it’s the effect of the warm sunshine on the fir-trees.”
“’Tisn’t,” said Drummond, laughing. “It’s bad, strong tobacco. There!” he said as the loud scratch of a match on a piece of stone rose from just beneath their feet, as if to endorse his words, and the odour grew more pronounced and the smoke visible, rising from a tuft of young seedling pines some twenty feet below.
“Here, wake up, pardners,” cried a familiar voice. “You’re both asleep.”
“I wasn’t,” said a voice.
“Nor I,” said another; “only thinking.”
“Think with your eyes open, then. I say, any more of these niggers coming in to make peace?”