"I am so, sir!"
"Excellent!" said the Major, swinging to saddle. "Our expedition to-night hath not been in vain, after all."
"Where now, sir?" enquired the Sergeant, gathering up his reins.
"Home!"
"What—ha' we done, your honour?"
"Until to-morrow night—at the ruined mill, Zeb."
"To-morrow night—zounds, sir!" chuckled the Sergeant as they broke into a trot. "'Twill be like old times!"
"'Twill be five to two, Zebedee!" said the Major thoughtfully.
"Warmish, sir—warmish! Though t' be sure the big rascal bore his arm in a sling, still, 'tis pretty odds, I allow."
"There must be no shooting, Zeb."