The colonel went on first, and Cyril and John Manning next, followed by Perry and Diego.
“It does one good, Master Cyril,” whispered John Manning, “it does one good again, my lad. That’s the sort of man the colonel is. Fit for a king, every inch of him. There ain’t many men as would have faced a body of savage Indians with their bows and arrows like that. He’s the right sort of stuff, ain’t he? and yet they let him leave the army and go on half-pay.”
“Yes, but do you think there will be any treachery?” replied Cyril.
“No, sir, I don’t, so long as we show ’em we mean to keep the upper hand of ’em. They daren’t. They know the colonel meant what he said, and felt that every word he said was true, and that a big chief had come among ’em.”
“Yes, I could see that,” said Cyril.
“My word, he was like a lion among a lot o’ them big, long-necked sheep, sir; and you did your part of it splendidly.”
“I did?” said Cyril, looking at the man in wonder.
“Yes, you, sir. I only wish our Master Perry would speak up as bold.”
“Why, John Manning,” said Cyril, half laughing, “if you only knew how I felt.”
“I do, sir.”