"Get on that horse or I'll blow you on," ordered Bill, somewhat annoyed at the waste of time.
Sandy jumped up.
"Now, take this bloke back to Colonel Killem. Tell him he's a poor fellow wot's wrong in his head, an' thinks he's at a cricket match."
The captured umpire, who was a sportsman with a real sense of humour, laughed heartily as he was led away.
"Knew he was mad," commented Bill, as he watched him go. "Now, Paddy, that patrol has scooted; let's get after them."
The attack was now well into the first stage. The scouts of the Lancashires were fighting a running action with the scouts and patrols of the Australians. From knoll to knoll they were pressed, both sides skilfully using every fold in the ground. Bill, by this time, had increased his army to about twenty men. Using the most original adjectives and assuming a superior air, he ordered his command about like some old fire-eating colonel. His vigorous pursuit kept the enemy busy, but eventually they pulled him up in front of a roughly-made sangar. This was a strong detached post thrown out in front of the outpost line. The defenders gave his little army a fierce fusillade of blank.
"That's up you, Buffalo Bill," said the mischievous Doolan.
"Silence in the ranks," roared Bill, who was taking himself very seriously. He carefully surveyed the position, which held fifty men. They were not to be moved, that was evident. Bill determined to do so.
"Fix bayonets!" he shouted.
"Ain't allowed," said a stripling at his side.