The major glanced at the top of the kopje before replying, and then said briefly, “Not yet.”
Chapter Twenty Five.
Another Explosion.
The wounded men—a couple of dozen all told, many of the injuries being only slight—were rapidly lifted into the light wagons while the horses and mules were given water, and all went well, the more slightly hurt cheering and joking their bearers, and making light of their injuries in the excitement of the triumph.
“Mind my head, boys,” said one; “it’s been knocked crooked.”
“And my leg’s loose, you clumsy beggar; it’s there somewhere. Don’t leave it behind.”
“I say, Joey, I’ve got a hole right through me; ain’t it a lark!”
“Here, you, sir! Take care; that’s my best ’elmet. I want it for a piller.” And so on, and so on.