“But you must. It’s part of the work you have on hand. You must watch for the time that is best for our start. You can’t say anything to that.”
“No,” sighed Marcus, “that’s right; but see what a time we have been waiting now. It must be hours since the general came and gave me his command.”
“Well, not hours, but it’s a long time, boy, and it will be longer yet before we shall dare to stir. Why, there are thousands of men below there, and hundreds more coming into sight just along the part we shall have to go, and we must wait till they have all marched off right and left to join the rest before we shall dare to start.”
“But you are making the worst of it, Serge,” cried Marcus, eagerly, as he glanced round from his post of observation at the magnificent sight of men in motion, glittering arms, trampling horse, and all framed in by the sterile rocks, the snow-capped hills, and the dazzling blue sky above.
“Perhaps I am, boy, and all the better for us; but it’s much the best to look troubles straight in the face and not to come to grief from being too hopeful.”
And as to time, so it proved, for after about another two hours had elapsed, with the boy bubbling over with impatience, they were able to feel that they might venture downward through the lower part of the amphitheatre, where they would be getting more into the shelter of rock and valley, and beyond the ken of the two trampling multitudes urging their way on after the little army now in full motion higher up the pass, the leading foot showing still clearly and nearly as distinctly as if close at hand, though quite a couple of miles from where the chariot stood.
“Ah,” cried Serge, at last, “now I think we will start.”
“Yes, come on,” cried Marcus. “But why did you say that?” he added, hastily.
“Because the fight’s begun, boy.”
“Where? How?” cried Marcus.