The reply seemed to be unanswerable, and Dickenson merely uttered a grunt, just as Captain Roby and his men marched up to form an escort for the little convoy.
“Well, commandant?” he said.
The Boer grunted. “Not commandant,” he said; “field-cornet.”
“Very well, field-cornet; how did you manage to get here?”
“’Cross the veldt,” growled the man.
“Didn’t you see any of your friends?”
“No,” grumbled the Boer. “If we had we shouldn’t be here. Have you got the money for what we’ve got?”
“No.”
“Stop, then. We’re not going on.”
“But you must now. The colonel will give you an order.”