“Well, then, we will be off directly after sun-down. Since Khartoum has fallen, the troops before it will be set free, and the country perhaps will be flooded with them. This may be our best chance.”
“Certainly.”
The three officers of camelry had to prepare their men for the start, and see that they got the saddles and other packages, which had been piled together to make an inner defence, separated and placed in proper position for instant adjustment.
Tom Strachan, left alone, wandered off to the watch-tower, to have a look at it and mount to the balcony. On his way across he met a soldier, who advanced his rifle and brought his right-hand smartly across in salute, whom he recognised.
“Kavanagh!” he cried.
“Yes, sir, here I am,” replied Kavanagh. “No, please don’t shake hands now or here,” he added, hurriedly. “I do not want to be recognised at all. My captain has not remembered being with me at Harton, I am glad to say.”
“I have your sword still,” said Strachan.
“Yes, and did good work with it at Tamai,” replied Kavanagh.
“I am glad of that.”
“It is a good one, indeed,” said Strachan; “but I don’t know that I have done anything wonderful with it!”