A short time before, Lennox and his companion had also taken a farewell glance at the bearers of so valuable an adjunct to the military larder, and Dickenson had made a similar remark to that of his chief, but in a more easy-going conversational way.
“Those chaps mean to be square, Drew, old man,” he said.
“Think so?”
“Yes; so do you. What else could they mean?”
“To round upon us.”
“How? What could they do?”
“Get back to their people and speak out, after spying out the weakness of the land.”
“Pooh! What good would that do, you suspicious old scribe? Their account’s right enough; they proved it by the plunder they brought and their eagerness to sack as much tin as they could for it.”
“I don’t know,” said Lennox; “the Boers are very slim.”
“Mentally—granted; but certainly not bodily, old man. Bah! Pitch it over; you suspect every thing and everybody. I know you believe I nobbled those last cigarettes of yours.”