“All right. I understand you,” said Lumley, springing up. “Now, boys, sharp’s the word; we will go to the help of our guide. But two of you must stay behind to guard our camp. Do you, Donald Bane and James Dougall, remain and keep a bright look-out.”
“Is it to stop here, we are?” asked Bane, with a mutinous look.
“Yes,” exclaimed our leader so sharply that the mutinous look faded.
“An’ are we to be left behind,” growled Dougall, “when there’s fightin’ to be done?”
“I have no time for words, Dougall,” said Lumley in a low voice, “but if you don’t at once set about preparation to defend the camp, I’ll give you some fighting to do that you won’t relish.”
Dougall had no difficulty in understanding his leader’s meaning. He and his friend at once set about the required preparations.
“Now then, Mozwa,” said Lumley.
The young Indian, who had remained erect and apparently unobservant, with his arms crossed on his still heaving chest, turned at once and went off at a swift trot, followed by all our party with the exception of the ill-pleased Highlanders, who, in their eagerness for the fray, did not perceive that theirs might be a post of the greatest danger, as it certainly was one of trust.
“Tonald,” said Dougall, sitting down and lighting his pipe after we were gone, “I wass vera near givin’ Muster Lumley a cood threshin’.”
“Hum! it’s well ye didn’t try, Shames.”