“What?” cried Brace, excitedly; and he raised his voice, so that I sprang to my feet, and snatched my sword from its scabbard with the edge grating in an ominous way as it left the steel sheath.
My companion also stood upon his guard, and we stood there in the darkness listening, but there was not a sound, though we were within a few feet of houses at each side.
“No challenge,” he whispered, and going down on one knee, he felt about the wet earth for a few moments.
“Yes,” he said, drawing in his breath with an angry hiss; “we are going wrong.” Then, after a pause, as he stood behind me—“Never mind; we’ll trace them this way first, and find where the ruts enter the village. It will be a guide.”
We resumed our steady progress, walking with one foot in the wheel-tracks for about twenty yards further, and then Brace’s sword suddenly struck something, either tree or upright. It proved to be the latter, being the support of a great shed, and here I found that the ruts suddenly became confused—branching off, and directly after I found traces of horses having been picketed about where we stood.
“Yes,” said Brace quickly, “here’s where they have been tethered. They must have altered their position. Quick! let’s follow them up.”
We went off at once, finding no difficulty in keeping to the trail, which, as far as we could tell in the darkness, swept round the outside of the village, for every now and then we tried off to right and left, to find cottages on the latter side, what seemed to be cultivated fields on the other.
Then, all at once, the houses ceased, and the tracks grew deeper with the wheel-ruts half filled with water, and it was evident that the horses had struggled hard to drag the guns through soft ploughed fields.
“Brace,” I said, after we had tramped on through the heavy ground for about a quarter of a mile.
“Yes.”