Each of the scouting parties gave the same account of the state of affairs; that is to say, that though to all appearances the country round was clear of the enemy, a keen watch was being kept up, and, turn which way they would, Boers were ready to spring up in the most unexpected places to arrest their course and render it impossible to reach supplies and bring them in.
Their report cast a damp on the whole camp. For bad news travels fast, and this was soon known.
“Sounds bad,” said Dickenson cheerfully, “and just like them. They are not going to run their heads into danger unless obliged. They mean to lie low and wait for us, then turn us back to starve and surrender.”
“And they’ll find that we shall take a great deal of starving first,” replied Lennox bitterly. “But I don’t agree with you altogether. I fully expect that, in spite of their failure to blow us up, it will not be long before they contrive something else.”
“Well, we shall not quarrel about that, old man,” said Dickenson cheerily. “If they do come on in some attack, every one here will be delighted to see them. We should enjoy a good honest fight. What I don’t like is this going on shrinking and pulling the tongue farther through the buckle. If it goes on like this much longer I shall have to go to our saddler to punch a few more holes in my belt. I say, though, one feels better after that draught of water. I believe if I had stayed up yonder much longer I should have gone quite off my head, through fancying things, for it was only imagination after all.”
A fresh company occupied the kopje that evening, and once more perfect silence reigned. There was one of the glorious displays of stars seen so often in those clear latitudes, when the great dome of heaven seems to be one mass of sparkling, encrusted gems.
Lennox had been standing outside his quarters for some time, enjoying the coolness, and shrinking from going in to where the hut was hot and stuffy and smelling strongly of the now extinguished paraffin-lamp, mingled with a dash of the burned tobacco in Dickenson’s pipe.
“I say,” said the latter, “hadn’t you better come in and perch? Nothing like making your hay when the sun shines, and getting your forty winks while you can.”
“Quite right,” replied Lennox in a low, dreamy voice; “but it’s very pleasant out here.”
“That’s true enough, no doubt, old man; but you’ll be on duty to-morrow night out yonder, and you can go on star-gazing then. Yah! Oh—oh dear me, how sleepy I do feel!” he continued, yawning. “I’ll bet a penny that I don’t dream once. Regularly worn out, that’s how I am. There, good-night if you won’t come and lie down. I shall just allow myself half a—Oh, hang it! I do call that too bad!”