“Right,” said the sergeant bluffly. “I’m not an inquisitive man. Come along, Gray.”
He led the way into the part of the fort used as an armoury, and furnished the required weapons, which Gray proceeded to button up under his jacket.
“Oh! that’s the game is it, my lad?” he said. “Then look here; don’t take those clumsy tools; any one can see that you’ve got weapons hidden there. I’ll lend you this little revolver; it’s handier, and will do quite as much mischief. You can have this dirk, too, with the belt.”
He brought out a handsome little revolver, about half the weight and size of the heavy military “Colt” previously supplied; and also a well-made, long, thin dirk, with a thin belt.
“There, my lad!” he said, buckling on the belt under Gray’s jacket, and then thrusting the revolver into a little leather pouch. “There, you are now fitted up sensibly, and no one would be the wiser. Stop a moment, you must fill your pocket with cartridges. Let me have those things back safe, and I hope you won’t have to use them; but being ready, my lad, is half the battle. You know I’m never ill.”
“No, sergeant; you have excellent health.”
“Right, my lad, I do; and I’ll tell you why: I bought the biggest box of pills I could get before I left London. Four-and-six I gave for it, and I have never taken one. Diseases come, and they know as well as can be that I’ve got that box of big pills—reg’lar boluses—in my kit; and they say to themselves, ‘This man’s ready for action, with his magazine well stored!’ and they go somewhere else.”
“I see, sergeant,” said Gray, smiling. “Good-bye!”
“Good-bye, my lad, good-bye. Here, nobody’s looking. Sim’s asleep. Shake hands, my lad, shake hands. You see, as your superior officer that’s a bit of stooping on my part; but, between man and man, I, Sergeant Lund, look up to you, Private Gray, and always feel as if we ought to change places.”
“Good-bye, sergeant,” said Gray, shaking hands warmly with the sergeant, “and I echo your wish that I may not have to use the weapons; keep a sharp look-out.”