'Yes, he did shirk his liquor,' hiccupped the amiable Nan; 'you should have drugged it, Josh.'
'But then we didn't know that he had all this chink about him.'
'That must be ours,' growled a fellow who had not yet spoken, but was prodding the table with a knife he had drawn from his belt; 'we'll give him a through ticket to the other world—one with the down train.'
'And no return,' added Nan, laughing.
Florian felt beads of perspiration on his brow; he was one against five—entrapped, baited, done to death—and if he did not appear at headquarters with the fatal money, what would be thought of him but that he had deserted with it, and his name would be branded as that of a coward and robber.
Dulcie! The thought of Dulcie choked him, but it nerved him too.
Another truculent-looking fellow now came in, making five men in all.
'He has money galore on him—Nan saw the gold—money in a canvas bag. How comes he, a sergeant, to have all this in his grab, unless he stole it?' said Jarrett, in explanation to the new-comer.
'Of course he stole it—it's regimental money, and evidently he is deserting with it,' said the other, who was no doubt, like Jarrett, a Queen's bad bargain also; for he added, 'What the devil do Cardwell's short-service soldiers care about their chances of pension or promotion—that's the reason he has the bag of gold; so why shouldn't we make it ours? It is only dolloping a knife into him, and then burying him out in the veldt before daylight. Even if he was traced here, who is to be accountable for a deserter?'
And this practical ruffian proceeded at once to put a finer edge and point upon his long bowie knife.