“Come along,” said the lieutenant.—“Then you don’t mind the job?”
“Not I, sir. I always loved powder from a boy. Used to make little cannons out of big keys, filing the bottoms to make a touch-hole. I was a don at squibs and crackers; and the games we used to have laying trains and making blue devils! Ha! It was nice to be a boy!”
“Yes, sergeant; and now we’ve got something big to do. But there, you’re used to it. Remember getting away the powder-bags with Mr Lennox?”
“Remember it, sir? Ha! But I was in a fright then.”
“Of being blown up?”
“Well, sir, if you’ll believe me, I never thought of myself at all. I was all in a stew for fear the powder should catch from the lantern and make an end of Mr Lennox.”
“I believe you,” said Dickenson; and they stopped at the spot where the ambulance-wagons had trotted up, and the leader of the mounted escort had dropped from his panting horse to speak to the major.
“Then you’ve done it, sir?”
“Yes, as you see. What message from the colonel?”
“Covering party advancing, sir, to help you in. You are to get all the provisions and cattle you can, and retire. But that I see you have done. Enemy near, sir?”