The Kopje Garrison: A Story of the Boer War. Fenn George Manville

You couldn’t distinguish any difference at this distance,” said Lennox. “Come along; we don’t want to play eavesdroppers.”

      “Certainly not on a wet night when the rain is rattling down on those roofs and pouring off the eaves in cascades,” replied Dickenson; “but I never felt so strong a desire to listen before. Wonder what the old man is saying to our smoky friend.”

      “Talking to the point, you may be sure, my lad,” replied Lennox. “I say, though, he is safe to tell Lindley that I suggested it.”

      “Well, what of that?”

      “Suppose the expedition turns out a failure, and they don’t get back with the forage?”

      “Ha! Bad for you, old man,” said Dickenson, chuckling. “Why, we shall all be ready to eat you. Pity, too, for you’re horribly skinny.”

      “Out upon you for a gluttonous-minded cannibal,” said Lennox merrily. “Well, there, I did it for the best. But I say, Bob, we’ve come all this way round the back of the houses here, and haven’t been challenged once.”

      “What of that? There are sentries all round the market-square.”

      “Yes; but out here. Surely a man or two ought to be placed somewhere about?”

      “Oh, hang it all, old fellow! the boys are harassed to death with keeping post. You can’t have all our detachment playing at sentry-go. Come along. There’s no fear of the enemy making a night attack: that’s the only good thing in fighting Boers.”

      “I don’t see the goodness,” said Lennox rather gloomily.

      “Ah, would you!” cried Dickenson. “None of that! It’s bad enough to work hard, sleep hard, and eat hard.”

      “I always thought you liked to eat hard,” said Lennox.

      “Dear me: a joke!” said Dickenson. “Very bad one, but it’s better than going into the dumps. As I was about to say, we’ve got trouble enough without your playing at being in low spirits.”

      “Go on. What were you going to say?”

      “I was going to remark that the best of fighting the Boers is, that they won’t stir towards coming at us without they’ve got the daylight to help them to shoot. We ought to do more in the way of night surprises. I like the mystery and excitement of that sort of thing.”

      “I don’t,” said Lennox shortly. “It always seems to me cowardly and un-English to steal upon sleeping people, rifle and bayonet in hand.”

      “Well, ’pon my word, we’ve got into a nice line of conversation,” said Dickenson. “Here we are, back in the market-square, brilliantly lighted by two of the dimmest lanterns that were ever made, and sentries galore to take care of us. Wonder whether Blackbeard has finished his confab with the chief?”

      “Let’s go and see,” said Lennox, and he walked straight across, answering the sentry’s challenge, and finding the Boer back in his former place, seated upon the wagon-box, and conversing in a low tone with the men within.

      He did not start when Lennox spoke to him this time, but swung himself deliberately round to face his questioner.

      “Well,” said the latter, “what did the colonel say?”

      “He said it was a good thing, and that we should take our wagons, inspan, and be passed through the lines to-night.”

      “Oh, come,” said Dickenson; “that’s good! One to us.”

      “Yes,” grunted the Boer after puffing away; “he said it was very good, and that we were to go.”

      “Then, why in the name of common-sense don’t you get ready and go instead of sitting here smoking and talking?”

      “Oh, we know, the colonel and I,” said the man quietly. “We talked it over with the major and captains and another, and we all said that the Boers would be looking sharp out in the first part of the night, expecting to be attacked; but as they were not they would settle down, and that it would be best to wait till half the night had passed, and go then. There would be three hours’ darkness, and that would be plenty of time to get well past the Boer laagers before the sun rose; so we are resting till then.”

      “That’s right enough,” said Dickenson, “so good-night, and luck go with you! Bring twice as many sheep this time.”

      “Yes, I know, captain,” said the Boer. “And wheat and rice and coffee and sugar.”

      “Here, come along, Drew, old fellow; he’s making my mouth water so dreadfully that I can’t bear it.”

      “You will come and see us go?” said the Boer.

      “No, thank you,” replied Dickenson. “I hope to be sleeping like a sweet, innocent child. – You’ll see them off, Drew?”

      “No. I expect that they will be well on their way by the time I am roused up to visit posts. – Good-night, cornet. I hope to see you back safe.”

      “Oh yes, we shall be quite safe,” said the man; “but perhaps it will be three or four days before we get back. Good-night, captains.”

      “Lieutenants!” cried Dickenson, and he took his comrade’s arm, and they marched away to their quarters, heartily tired out, and ready to drop asleep on the instant as weary people really can.

      Chapter Eight.

      “Run, Sir, for your Life!”

      “Eh? Yes. All right,” cried Lennox, starting up, ready dressed as he was, to find himself half-blinded by the light of the lantern held close over him. “Time, sergeant?”

      “Well, not quite, sir; but I want you to come and have a look at something.”

      “Something wrong?” cried the young officer, taking his sword and belt, which were handed to him by the non-com, and rapidly buckling up.

      “Well, sir, I don’t know about wrong; but it don’t look right.”

      “What is it?”

      “Stealing corn, I call it, sir; and it’s being done in a horrid messy way, too.”

      “What! from the stores?”

      “Yes, sir,” said the man; “but come and look.”

      “Ready,” said Lennox, taking out and examining his revolver, and then thrusting it back into its holster.

      The next minute, after a glance at Dickenson, who was sleeping peacefully enough, Lennox was following the sergeant, whose dim lantern shed a curious-looking halo in the black darkness. Then as they passed a sentry another idea flashed across the young officer’s confused brain, brought forth by the sight of the guard, for on looking beyond the man there was no sign of the Boers’ lantern hanging from the front bow of their wagon-tilts.

      “What about the Boers?” he said sharply.

      “Been gone about an hour, sir. I suppose it was all right? Captain Roby saw them start.”

      “Oh yes, it is quite right,” said Lennox. “Now then, what about this corn? Some of the Kaffirs been at it?”

      “What do you think, sir?” said the man, holding down the lantern to shed its light upon the ground, as they reached the open door of the store and showed a good sprinkling of the bright yellow grains scattered about to glisten in the pale light.

      “Think? Well, it’s plain enough,” said Lennox. “Thieves have been here.”

      “Yes, sir. The open door took my notice at once. That chap ought to have seen it; but he didn’t, or he’d have given the alarm.”

      “Go on,” said Lennox, and he followed the man right into the barn-like building, to stop short in front of the first of the half-dozen or so of sacks at the end, this having been thrown down and cut right open, so that a quantity of the maize had gushed out and was running like fine shingle on to the floor.

      “Kaffirs’