“Some few of the reputed witches must also have escaped drowning, but precious few did so, I have read,” answered Clarence, sarcastically. “Then, I suppose, since you must have blown the brains out of that carcase, the sign is, ‘Go on and—risk it’?”
“Yes; that is the result,” replied Ned. “Go on and—succeed.”
“That is the consummation devoutly to be wished. Now, don’t waste any more bullets on signs in the shape of lions—until our watch below is over, at any rate. Be sure, Sir Oracle. We are off again to the arms of Morpheus.”
Chapter Twenty Four.
The Bashikonay.
It was not by any means a dull camp since the diaries and note-books were destroyed.
Before this fatal accident matters had been slightly monotonous for Cocoeni and the other young sporting Basuto and Matabele braves. Since that irreparable loss, however—to use Cocoeni’s slangy English—“things were humming, instead of being humdrum.”
They were merry boys, all of them, and could not have been more wisely assorted for such an uncertain enterprise. Regardless of danger and privation, and well-nigh impervious to fatigue, they took their troubles laughing.