A dark Exploit.
“It seems so stupid, Pete, going all this way round in the black darkness to get at the bungalow, when ten minutes at the outside would have taken us there.”
“That’s right, Mister Archie. What was it—five hundred yards?”
“Somewhere about; but if we had tried to walk there, how far should we have got before we had spears through us?”
“About five-and-twenty, sir, or thirty; and then we shouldn’t have got the cartridges. But, I say, this is about the darkest dark night I ever remember. Glad I ain’t on sentry-go. Can you make out where we are?”
“Yes. Can’t you?”
“No, sir; we come such a long way round. But as far as I can make out, we are somewhere at the back of them big trees where they fed the helephants on Sham-Fight Day.”
“Yes, I think that’s right,” whispered Archie, as they knelt together whispering. “But let’s get on; we must hit the river somewhere.”
“Hope so, sir. It will be softer than hitting your head against trees. I did get a poke just now when I went down, and it has made my nose bleed wonderful.”
“How tiresome! Let’s get to the river, and the cold water will soon stop it.”