“Like enough. There’s plenty of it, anyhow,” said Junkie, trying to peer through the gloom in the direction of the tents occupied by a small body of regular troops which accompanied them.
As he did so a sudden squall struck the tents, levelling two with the ground, and entirely whisking off one, which, after making a wild circle in the air, was launched over a precipice into thick darkness, and never more seen!
Lying under another bush, not far distant, Considine and Hans lay crouched together for the purpose at once of keeping each other warm and presenting the smallest possible amount of surface to the weather. They did not sleep at first, and being within earshot of the bush under which the brothers Skyd had sheltered themselves, found sufficient entertainment in listening to their conversation.
“We scarce counted on this sort of thing,” said John Skyd, “when, fifteen years ago, we left the shores of old England for ‘Afric’s southern wilds.’”
“That’s true, Jack,” was Bob Skyd’s reply, “and I sometimes think it would have been better if we had remained at home.”
“Craven heart! what do you mean?” demanded James.
“Ay, what do you mean?” repeated Dobson; “will nothing convince you? It is true we made a poor job of the farming, owing to our ignorance, but since we took to merchandise have we not made a good thing of it—ain’t it improving every day, and won’t we rise to the very pinnacle of prosperity when this miserable war is over.”
“Supposing that we are not killed in the mean-time,” said Stephen Orpin, who formed one of the group.
“That is a mere truism, and quite irrelevant,” retorted Dobson.
“Talking of irrelevant matters, does any one know why Sandy Black and McTavish did not come with Groot Willem?” asked Orpin.