“No,” said Pen; “we may be sure that they have given it up, else we shouldn’t be halted here. I fancy, Punch—but, like you, I can’t be sure—that the Frenchmen have been making for the place where they surprised us after being driven down the mountain pass.”
“That’s it,” said Punch; “and our friends, after beating off the enemy, have gone back to their what-you-may-call-it quarters—mine, didn’t they call it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, that’s what we have got to do—get away from here and go back and join Mr Contrabando again.”
“Impossible, Punch, even if we were free.”
“Not it! Why, I could do it in the dark if I could only get rid of these straps, now that the Frenchies are beaten.”
“Not beaten, Punch; only driven back, and I feel pretty sure in thinking it out that they have come to a halt here in what I dare say is a good, strong place where they can defend themselves and wait for reinforcements before attacking again.”
“Oh, they won’t do that,” said Punch roughly. “They had such a sickener last night.”
“Well, I can’t be sure,” said Pen; “but as far as I can make out they have a lot of wounded men lying about here in this bit of a valley, and there are hundreds of them camped down about the fires. They wouldn’t have lit those fires if it hadn’t been a strong place.”
“I suppose not,” said Punch. “I never thought of that. Because they would have been afraid to show the smugglers where they were, and it sounded when they were talking as if there were hundreds and hundreds of them—regiments, I think. One couldn’t see in the night, but while I was lying awake I thought there were thousands of them.”