“Oh, come,” said Dickenson; “that’s good! One to us.”
“Yes,” grunted the Boer after puffing away; “he said it was very good, and that we were to go.”
“Then, why in the name of common-sense don’t you get ready and go instead of sitting here smoking and talking?”
“Oh, we know, the colonel and I,” said the man quietly. “We talked it over with the major and captains and another, and we all said that the Boers would be looking sharp out in the first part of the night, expecting to be attacked; but as they were not they would settle down, and that it would be best to wait till half the night had passed, and go then. There would be three hours’ darkness, and that would be plenty of time to get well past the Boer laagers before the sun rose; so we are resting till then.”
“That’s right enough,” said Dickenson, “so good-night, and luck go with you! Bring twice as many sheep this time.”
“Yes, I know, captain,” said the Boer. “And wheat and rice and coffee and sugar.”
“Here, come along, Drew, old fellow; he’s making my mouth water so dreadfully that I can’t bear it.”
“You will come and see us go?” said the Boer.
“No, thank you,” replied Dickenson. “I hope to be sleeping like a sweet, innocent child.—You’ll see them off, Drew?”
“No. I expect that they will be well on their way by the time I am roused up to visit posts.—Good-night, cornet. I hope to see you back safe.”