“Then why did my uncle post sentries?”
“Because he’s a soldier,” cried the other. “Here, have some tea. It isn’t too hot now, and old Man’s signalling for his dose.”
“I can’t drink tea now,” said Tim, huskily. “I’m sure there’s somebody there.”
“Then let’s go and see.”
Tim was silent.
“What, are you afraid?” said his cousin.
“No. Are you?”
“Don’t ask impertinent questions,” replied Rifle shortly. “Will you come?”
For answer Tim cocked his piece, and the two boys advanced over the thick grass toward the patch of dense scrub, their hearts beating heavily as they drew nearer, and each feeling that, if he had been alone, he would have turned and run back as hard as ever he could.
But neither could show himself a coward in the other’s eyes, and they walked on step by step, more and more slowly, in the full expectation of seeing a dozen or so of hostile blacks spring to their feet from their hiding-place, and charge out spear in hand.