“I thought this, sir,” said Cyril hesitatingly: “we’re well-armed; the Indians are afraid of you, and they are most likely retreating back to their camp with our mules and baggage, along with the seed we worked so hard to get.”
He stopped again, and looked from one to the other, very red in the face all the time.
“Well, go on,” said the colonel encouragingly.
“Why not show them we’re not a bit afraid, and go on in pursuit of them at once? I don’t believe they’d fight, and if they did—well, we should have to do the same.”
“Hooray!” shouted John Manning, throwing up his cap, catching it again, and then drawing himself up stiffly as he glanced at the colonel: “Beg pardon, sir.”
The colonel merely nodded, but said to himself: “I wish Percy had spoken like that.” Then turning to Cyril: “You said, why not go in pursuit?”
“Yes, sir,” said Cyril, throwing off his hesitation, and speaking now with his eyes sparkling, and cheeks flushed with excitement. “Why not?”
“Exactly, my boy, why not?” said the colonel. “We were caught unawares, and I have blamed myself, an old soldier, severely for the greatest lapse of which an officer can be guilty—eh, John Manning?—sleeping on duty in face of the enemy.”
“Awful bad, sir, in time of war.”
“Yes, but there are bounds to human nature’s endurance, John Manning; and though I would not own it to myself, I was utterly exhausted.”