Then, following the direction of his companion’s pointing hand, he fully grasped what was meant, for coming down the slope across the river were a couple of English light dragoons, who had caught sight of the two figures on the opposite bank.
The men were approaching cautiously, each with his carbine at the ready, and for the moment it seemed as if the vedette were about to place the lives of the two lads in fresh peril. But as they drew nearer the boys rose and shouted; though the rushing noise of the river drowned their words.
As the boys continued to gesticulate, the men began to grasp the fact that they had been in the water, and what they were, for one of them began pointing along the stream and waving his hand, as he shouted again and again.
“Can’t—understand—what—you—say!” yelled Punch; and then putting his hand to his lips, he shouted with all his might, “English! Help!”
The word “help” evidently reached the ears of one of the dragoons, for, rising in his stirrups, he waved the hand that held his carbine and pointed downstream, yelling out something again.
“I don’t know, comrade,” cried Punch dolefully. “I think it was ‘Come on!’”
“I know now,” cried Pen. “It was ‘ford.’”
Then the drenched, exhausted pair staggered on over the dry sand, which suggested that at times the river must be twice its present width; and the vedette guided their horses carefully on amongst the stones of the farther bank, till, a few hundred yards lower down, where the river was clear of obstructions and ran swiftly on in a regular ripple, the two horses turned right and paced gently down into the water, which, half-way to their knees, splashed up as they made for the opposite bank, which the lads reached at the same time as the vedette.
“Why, hallo, my lads! We couldn’t make out what you were. The —th, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”