Perry made no reply, and they stood for some time together in silence, listening to the crop, crop sound made by the mules, and the whispering sighs of the wind, which came down sharp and chill from the mountains. At last Cyril spoke again.
“Let’s walk round the camp.”
“You can’t for the trees.”
“Oh yes, we can. It’s cold standing here. We’ll work in and out of the trees, and make a regular path round. It will be better than standing still.”
“Very well,” said Perry shortly. “Go on first.”
Cyril shouldered his piece and stepped off cautiously for a couple of dozen yards, and then struck off to the left, meaning to make the fire act as a centre round which they could walk, keeping guard and themselves warm; but before he had gone many steps he stopped short.
“Look here,” he whispered, “you are a soldier’s son, and ought to teach me what to do in keeping guard.”
“There’s nothing to teach,” said Perry. “All you’ve got to do is to keep a sharp lookout.”
“Yes, there is. If we keep together like this, we leave a lot of the camp exposed. What we ought to do is for one to go one way, and one the other; then meet, cross, and go on again. It would be far better.”
“But then we should be alone so long. We had better keep together.”