Ned, repugnant as the task was, felt the wisdom of acting upon the suggestion of Cocoeni. Swiftly he drew off the coat and hat from the dead Boer and put them on; then, bracing on his bandolier and revolver-belt, he took up the rifle and boldly crossed the line of light to the sentry-box.
There were no windows to this end of the building, while from where he stood he could see the front gate, outside of which stood the figure of a stout-built woman pressing against the rails, while inside was the other sentry, with his face to her and his back to his duty. They were having their upsitting, or rather upstanding, in the moonlight, and seemingly totally oblivious to any one or anything else.
It was gruesome to think of that bleeding corpse within the shadow, and those ponderous lovers looking at each other with speechless and moonstruck admiration. Ned shuddered to think of it, and now he was wearing the blood-soaked hat at the same time.
However, there was no time to moralise. That Boer lover was likely to stand there until daybreak without budging, but some one else might come.
He put up his hand, and at the signal the seventeen figures left their shelter and glided across like spectres. Ned could watch them and the pair at the gate. He was also able to make out that ghastly figure which they had left behind.
Cocoeni bent his back and put his head against the wall, while one by one they clambered over him and dropped out of sight.
“Now, Baas, your turn,” said the Kaffir, softly.
Ned laid down his rifle and walked over to Cocoeni.
“How are you going to get up?” he asked.
“Easy. You go first, I come after.”