“I’ve told you that I am,” said Lennox firmly. “The orders are that I go with the company, and the colonel would not send me if he did not know from his own opinion and the doctor’s report that I am fit to be with the ranks.”
There was a little whisper or two between Dickenson and Sergeant James.
“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” said the latter; “he has pulled round wonderfully during the last fortnight, and it isn’t as if we were going on a long exhausting march. Just about six or seven miles through level veldt, sir, and in the cool of the night.”
“Well, there is that,” said Dickenson thoughtfully.
“And a good rest afterwards, sir, so as to make the advance, so I hear, just at the Boers’ sleepiest time. Bah! It’ll be a mere nothing if we can only get through their lines quietly. They’ll never stand the bayonet; and I wouldn’t wish for a smarter officer to follow than Mr Lennox.”
“Nor a braver, James,” said Dickenson quietly.
“Nor a braver, sir.”
“If he is up to the mark for strength.”
“Let him alone for that, sir,” said the sergeant, with a chuckle. “I don’t say Mr Lennox will be first, but I do say he won’t be last; and the men’ll follow him anywhere, as you know, sir, well.”
“Yes,” said Dickenson, drawing a deep breath; “and it’s what we shall want to-night—a regular rush, and the bayonet home.”