“No; let me go: I can run fast. I’ll be very careful and shelter myself behind trees. You can’t leave here.”
“He’s quite right Ned,” said Uncle Jack.
“I can run faster than Norman, uncle,” cried Tim eagerly. “Let me go.”
“No, me, father,” cried Rifle, excitedly.
“Silence in the ranks!” cried the captain sternly. Then, after a moment or two’s pause, he said firmly, “Private Norman will go as far as the ridge yonder, scouting. He will go cautiously, and keep out of sight of the enemy, and as soon as he has made out whether they are advancing and the direction they will take, he will return.”
“Yes, father.”
“Silence!—Now go.—Stop!”
The captain caught the boy by the arm, as he was creeping near the box, and as all followed the direction in which the captain was gazing, they saw a black figure darting from tree to tree some eighty or ninety yards away and with his back to them.
“That’s Shanter,” whispered Norman.
“Yes: follow him, and try and keep him in sight. If he joins the enemy come back at once. There, you need not creep over the space between us and the trees; there can be no enemy there. Quick! How soon the darkness is coming on!”