“I don’t know,” said Pen wearily. “I only know this, that I shall be too heart-sick and tired out to try.”
Chapter Thirty Five.
For the King.
As the evening drew near, it was to the two young riflemen as if Nature had joined hands with the enemy and had seemed to bid them stand back and rest while she took up their work and finished it to the bitter end.
“It’s just as if Nature were fighting against us,” said Pen.
“Nature! Who’s she? What’s she got to do with it?” grumbled Punch. “Phew! Just feel here! The sun’s as low down as that, and here’s my musket-barrel so hot you can hardly touch it. But I don’t know what you mean.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Pen bitterly. “I only meant that, now the enemy are not coming on, it’s growing hotter and hotter, and one’s so thirsty one feels ready to choke.”
“Oh, I see now. It’s just the same here. But why don’t they come on. Must be half an hour since they made their last charge, and if they don’t come soon my gun will go off all of itself, and then if they come I sha’n’t have a shot for them. Think they will come now?”