“But there’s no river here, sir,” continued the sergeant.
“How do you know?”
“Ponies say so, sir. If there’d been a river running by here, they’d be making for it to get a drink.”
“Yes, of course. Here, sergeant, I can touch high boughs.”
“Same here, sir.”
“But there’s no wood in our way.”
“What about the patch where our men surprised the Boers yesterday, sir?”
“To be sure. Why, sergeant, we must have wandered there.”
“That’s it, sir, for all I’m worth.”
“Ha!” said Dickenson, with a sigh of relief. “Then now we have something tangible, and can easily lay our course for Groenfontein.” The sergeant coughed a little, short, sharp, dry cough, and said nothing. “Well, don’t you think so?”