“Yes, sir, and away from home. That’s the worst of being in the dark.”
“As soon as it’s a little lighter,” whispered Dickenson, “we had better carefully examine this place. It is quite possible that there may be a patrol of the enemy occupying it, as we have done.”
“Yes, sir, likely as not, for—”
The sergeant clapped his hand over his lips and dropped down upon his knees, snatching at his officer’s jacket to make him follow his example.
There was need enough, for all at once there was something loudly uttered in Dutch, replied to by another speaker, the voices coming from the other side of the woodland patch.
In another minute there was quite a burst of talking, and, making signs to his two companions, the sergeant stepped softly to where the ponies were browsing and led them in amongst the trees, which stood up densely, until they were well hidden.
The next idea was to lift Lennox well under cover; but he was not touched, for he was still sleeping, and already so well hidden that it would not have been possible for any one to see him if passing round outside the trees and the thin belt of scrub.
“Get well down there, my lads,” said Dickenson then. “We’ll try and hold this little clump of stones if they do find us. If they do, we must give them a wild shout and a volley. They need not know how few we are.”
The men crouched down among the stones while the pale grey dawn was broadening, and waited in the full expectation of being discovered; for though a mounted patrol might in passing fail to see the men, the chances were that it would be impossible to go by without catching sight of the ponies.
It was evident enough to the listeners that the Boer party had passed the night in this shelter, and that they must have been sleeping without a watch being kept; otherwise, in spite of the quiet movements of Dickenson and his men, their arrival must have been heard; and now, as they crouched there, rifle in hand, all waited in the hope that the party would ride off at once in the direction of the ruined laager.