Then from out of the silence came the boy’s voice.
“You’ll be sorry for this,” he shouted.
Pen made no reply.
“Oh, it’s too bad of him,” muttered Punch. “I say,” he shouted, “you will be sorry for this, comrade. D’ye ’ear?”
Tramp, tramp, tramp went Pen’s feet over the stony ground.
“Oh, I say, comrade, this is too bad!” whimpered the boy; and then, giving his musket one or two angry slaps as if in an exaggerated salute, he shouldered the piece and marched steadily after his leader.
Pen halted till the boy closed up, and then started again.
“There, Punch,” he said quietly, “I knew you better than you know yourself.”
The boy made no reply, but marched forward with his teeth set; and evidently now thoroughly strung-up to meet anything that was in store, he stared straight before him into the darkness and paid no heed to the distant howls that floated to them upon the night-air from time to time.