“No, sir. Scratch or two on the horses’ heads and necks; that’s all.”
The orders were given to limber up again, and we advanced once more, as soon as the farriers had roughly seen to the injuries the horses had received; and as we went on, I caught a glimpse or two of the white uniforms and puggrees of the sowars in amongst the trees to right and left, the broken-down twigs and herbage showing where the running fight had taken place.
Brace reined up by one of the dead men.
“Why, Gil,” he said, “this must be the same regiment as the one we met.”
I was thinking the same, and said so.
“The scoundrels! If we could only surprise them. We are so weak in numbers, I hardly dare leave my guns; otherwise, with a troop of our lads to act as cavalry, I could pretty well cut them up, and scatter the rest, so that they would not do much more mischief for months to come.”
“Hush!” I whispered, as I caught his arm. “What’s that?”
“The first gun bumping over bad ground and rattling.”
“No; it’s firing,” I whispered, though the sound must have been a mile away.
“Yes; you are right. What is going on now? some fresh outrage?”