“They were meant to try in the sea, old fellow, but I never had a chance. Come softly, and be on the lookout.”
“Eh?” cried the young man addressed, bringing the rifle he carried to the ready. “Boers?”
“Oh no; our fellows are not likely to let any of those gentlemen approach. I thought we might perhaps put up a deer, antelope, buck, or something.”
“Venison roast, hot, juicy! Oh Drew, old man, don’t; pray don’t! You gave me such an awful pang. Oh dear! oh dear!”
“Pst! Quiet! Don’t build your hopes on anything, because I dare say we shall be disappointed; but still we might.”
“Ah, might!” said the young officer. “Oh dear! I thought we might get wounded, or have a touch of fever, but I never expected that we should run the risk of being starved to death.”
“Then give us a chance of escaping that fate by keeping your tongue quiet. If we don’t get a shot at something down there, we may still hit upon a bag of fish.”
“Forward!” whispered the young officer, and together the pair approached the wooded gully and cautiously began to descend it to reach the river; but all proved to be silent, and in spite of their caution not a bush rustled, and their patient movements were in vain.
“I did expect a shot at something,” said the elder officer in a disappointed tone.
“Venison was too much,” said Bobby. “I expected it would be a sneaking leopard, or one of those doggy-looking monkeys.”