“Same as usual, my lad,” said Serge, rising and sheathing his sword, which went back into its scabbard with a quick glide till the hilt was nearly reached, when it required a firm thrust to get it close into its place. “Well, to begin with, forage first. I often think it’s a pity a man wasn’t made like a horse. Look at those two ponies! How their coats shine in the sunshine! They began eating their breakfast before it was light, for I was watching and wakeful, and I got thinking like this as I heard them busy at it, crop and blow, crop and blow, and after they had eaten all they wanted they had a drink of water, and there they are fit for the day, while we three have got to find out some place or another where we can buy, or frighten them into giving us some bread and milk. We always have been lucky enough so far, and I don’t see why we shouldn’t be again to-day.”
“But which way shall we go, Serge? It’s of no use to try to follow up the army as we did yesterday, and then have to turn back because the enemy are between us and it.”
“No, boy; I think the best thing we can do is to leave that till we have done foraging, for we must have something to eat. Then we’ll try if we can’t creep round these tribes, or get in between them somehow. Perhaps we may have a bit of luck to give us a little help. Anyhow, we are not going to despair.”
“No, Serge,” cried Marcus, firmly; “anything but that.”
“Hah!” cried Serge. “That’s spoken like Cracis’ son.”
Chapter Twenty Nine.
On the Brink.
Evening was coming on on the following day, when, growing tired but in higher spirits, Marcus and Serge were cautiously following the traces well marked along the side of a forest which gave unmistakable evidence of the passing of a large body of men.