“Of course not; but it was of no use to say anything. Our failure has had a strange effect upon the poor fellow, and a word would act upon him like fire upon tinder.”
“Yes; but the starvation picnic has had its effect on other people too. Who’s he that he should have the monopoly of getting into a passion about nothing? I say, though, as we were up there this morning I don’t see what is the use of our going up again; there’ll be no shade at the top, and we shall be half-roasted.”
“Don’t come, then,” said Lennox quietly. “I’m going up to see if I can follow the scouts with a glass.”
“Don’t come?” cried Dickenson sharply. “Well, I like that! Here’s another one touched by the sun. Old Roby is not to have the monopoly of getting into a fantigue.”
“Nonsense! I’m not out of temper,” said Lennox.
“Not out of temper? Well, upon my word! But I shall come all the same. I would now if it were ten times as hot.”
“Very well,” said Lennox, drawing his breath hard so as to command his temper, for he felt really ruffled now by the heat and his comrade’s way of talking.
They climbed slowly on, step for step, till, as they zigzagged up into a good position which displayed the sun-bathed landscape shimmering in the heat, Lennox caught a glimpse of one of the scouting parties in the distance, and was about to draw his companion’s attention to it when Dickenson suddenly caught at his arm and pointed to a glowing patch of the rock in the full blaze of the sun.
“Look,” he said. “Big snake.”
“Nonsense!” said Lennox angrily; “there are no snakes up here.”