“Yes, I’m quite ready now,” replied Stan firmly.
“That’s right. Then shake hands, my lad.”
“What for?” asked Stan.
“Because,” was the reply, given in a grave, solemn tone, “we may never have the chance again.”
“You think it is as bad as that?”
“Quite,” was the reply as hand pressed hand. “There! we shall be at it soon, and I’m sorry, Lynn. When you first came I thought I should always detest you as a young meddler sent here to be in my way.”
“But you don’t think so now?” said Stan, smiling.
“Quite the contrary, my lad. There! we’ve talked enough. Only one word or so more. Keep cool, load steadily, and fire only when you feel sure of your man. Never hurry. Recollect that one carefully taken shot is worth a score of bad ones, which mean so much waste of ammunition. There! I’m off now to talk to the rest. I’ll come and be with you as much as I can.”
“Thank you; but I can see what you have done. You’ve put me in one of the best-sheltered places, and you are going to expose yourself in the most dangerous.”
“You are only partly right, my lad. I have not put you in one of the best-sheltered places, but I am going to expose myself in one of the worst as much as I can, and that is here—the place where I have stationed you.”