“Then tell him and his companion to go to sleep again.”
Cyril said a few words to the guide, and the two Indians dropped down at once, close to the warm ashes.
“I suppose, then, he knew all about your escapade, sir, eh?” cried the colonel. “Of course, he must have got you the Indian clothes and paint.”
“It was all my fault, sir; don’t blame him,” said Cyril humbly. “I’m very sorry I did it now. It seemed—”
“Seemed? Well, what did it seem, eh? There, hold your tongue now, and go and lie down by Perry. Recollect you are in an old soldier’s camp, and I forbid all talking now. Stop!—er—are you hungry?”
“No, sir; I can’t eat,” said Cyril bitterly.
“Humph! There, go and lie down, both of you, and get to sleep.—Once more, no talking, Perry; not till to-morrow morning.—Good-night, both of you.”
By this time John Manning had taken two soft blankets out of one of the packs, and handed them to the prisoner with a very unmilitary whisper.
“My!” he said, “what a game, Mr Cyril.”
But neither of the boys smiled. They lay down in Perry’s old place, and Cyril uttered a sigh of content, and then a stifled sob, as he felt Perry’s hand seeking for his to hold it tightly.