As I went across to where our quarters were, under a tree, I came upon young Dick Dobbs, our trumpeter, busy with a bit of rag and some powder, polishing away at his bugle, and I nodded to the happy-looking bright-faced lad.
“That’s right,” I said; “keep it bright.”
“I will, sir,” he said, raising the instrument to his lips. “Oh, I should like to have a good blow.”
“And blow all poor Brace’s schemes to the winds,” I said to myself. “I wonder what Craig’s plan is.”
The next minute I was telling Brace of Craig’s suspicions.
“Hum, yes,” he cried. “That’s a good man, Craig. I’d give something for him to be well and strong again. I’ll go and speak to the bearers, and double their guard. It would be ruin if they communicated with the enemy now.”
He went and gave the necessary orders, returned, and after making arrangements for our bivouac that night, Dost was summoned to a consultation, the result being that the Hindu stole off as soon as it was dark, and did not return for some hours.
Haynes was sleeping, and after lying down for a time enjoying the comparative coolness of the air, and listening to the peculiar noises in the forest, wondering the while whether any stray tiger might be on the prowl, I rose and went to where Brace was sitting.
“You!” he said. “Why are you not asleep?”
“I can’t go off,” I replied. “I’m uneasy about Dost.”