The horses, none of which had been hit, were picketed in a little ravine, and three men told off as guard, after which Major Salkeld saw to the defence.
An unpleasant thought flashed through his mind, and the brain message resolved itself into the question, "Are we in a death-trap?"
The sides of the donga were precipitous, and clad here and there with geraniums and heath of various species. Quartz rock of almost snowy whiteness peeped out, forming a striking contrast to the vivid red of the geraniums and the brown mottled surface of the heaths.
"Oliphant," said the major, addressing his sergeant, "do you think it politic for us to retire straight through the donga by the way we came, and retrace our steps to the Kopje Farm?"
A grim look was on the sergeant's face as he replied, "It would be, sir, if we could manage to do it."
"What do you mean, Oliphant?" queried the officer. "There will not be the slightest difficulty in the way, only I don't quite like the idea of falling back. It is against our traditions, you know."
"I thoroughly understand what you mean, sir," answered the sergeant; "but I am very much mistaken if even now both ends of the donga are not closed against us. I believe we are in a death-trap, sir."
"It doesn't say much for our scouting," muttered Major Salkeld; after which he added aloud, "Get the men ready to start, Oliphant. Poor Mason must be left for a time at least."
Two wounded troopers were in a bad plight. One had been shot through the lungs, but still lived, while the other, more fortunate, was suffering from a broken arm.
Jack Lovat when he realised the true state of affairs at once volunteered to remain behind with the trooper who was lying at death's door, but the gallant lad's offer was firmly refused by Major Salkeld.