But Dickenson waited in vain, for the crackling of burning sticks told that the enemy did not intend to start till they had made their breakfast, and the young officer’s brain was busily employed debating as to whether it would not be better to try and drive them off with a surprise volley, putting them to flight in a panic. Under the circumstances he took the non-commissioned officer into consultation.
“If you think it’s best, sir,” said the sergeant, “do it; but you can’t get much of a volley out of four rifles, and if you follow it up by emptying your magazines there’ll be no panic, for they’ll know what that means.”
“What do you advise, then?”
“Waiting, sir. We’re only four. There’s Mr Lennox, but that seems like bringing us down to two instead of making us five. As we are we’re in a strong position, and they may ride right away without seeing us; and that’s what we want, I take it, for we don’t want to fight—we want to get Mr Lennox safely back. If they don’t ride straight off, and are coming round here and see us, we can try the panic plan while they’re mounted. They’re pretty well sure to scatter then. If we fire now they’re not mounted, they’ll take to cover, and that’ll be bad, sir.”
“Yes. It means a long, dull time,” replied Dickenson. “We’ll wait, sergeant; but how long it will be before they know we’re here I’m sure I don’t know. I’ve been expecting to hear one of the ponies neigh every moment, and that will be fatal.”
“Oh, I don’t know, sir. You never can tell. They may take fright even then after the startlings we’ve given them. They’re brave enough chaps so long as they’re fighting from behind stones, or in ambush, or when they think they’ve got the whip-hand of us; but a surprise, or the thought that we’re getting round their flank and into their rear, is more than they can stand.”
“Silence!” whispered Dickenson. “I think they’re on the move.”
But they were not, and the sun was well up before sundry sounds pointed to the fact that the enemy were preparing to start.
For sundry familiar cries were heard, such as a man would address to a fidgety horse which declined to have its saddle-girth tightened. The men were laughing and chatting, too, until a stern order rang out, one which was followed by the trampling of horses—so many that the sergeant turned and gave a significant glance at Dickenson.
“Now then, which way?” thought the latter. “If they come round this side they must see us, and they are bound to, for here lies their laager.”