“The officers will not be satisfied till they have put a stop to our shooting, Punch.”
“Oh, but they can’t,” said the boy, with a laugh. “But, I say, I never thought I could shoot so well as this. Ain’t it easy!”
“No,” said Pen quietly. “I think we shot well at first, but here with our muskets resting steady on the stones in front, and with so many men to shoot at, we can’t help hitting some of them. Hallo! Here comes our friend.”
For now that the little gorge before them lay open the contrabandista joined them, to begin addressing his words of eulogy to Pen.
“Tell your comrade too,” he continued, “how proud I am of the way in which you are holding the enemy in check. I have just come from the King, and he sends a message to you—a message, he says, to the two brave young Englishmen, and he wants to know how he can reward you for all that you have done.”
“Oh, we don’t want rewarding,” said Pen quietly. “But tell me, is there any way by which the enemy can take us in the rear?”
“No,” said the smuggler quietly. “But it would be bad for you—and us—if they could climb up to the top there and throw pieces of rock down. But they would want ladders to do that. I am afraid, though—no,” he added; “there’s nothing to be afraid of—that they will be coming on again, and you must keep up your firing till they are so sick of their losses that they will not be able to get any more of their men to advance.”
“And what then?” said Pen.
“Why, then,” said the smuggler, “we shall have to wait till it’s dark and see if we can’t steal by them and thread our way through the lower pass, leaving them to watch our empty cache.”
Quite a quarter of an hour passed now, and it seemed as if the spirits of the French chasseurs were too much damped for their officers to get them to advance again.