The Kopje Garrison Part 58

"Thank you, James," said d.i.c.kenson. "I'll take your offer, for I'm nearly done up myself."

"You keep still, then, sir.-Dismount, my lads, and help to get Mr Lennox into the saddle.-Rest on me, sir; I've got you. Sure you're not wounded, sir?"

There was no reply; but the sergeant, who had pa.s.sed his arm round his young officer's waist, felt him subside, and if the hold had not been tightened he would have sunk to the ground.

"Got him?" cried d.i.c.kenson.

"Yes, sir; all right. Fainted."

"Fainted?"

"Yes, sir. Regular exhaustion, I suppose. We'll get him into the saddle, and I think the best way will be for me to got up behind and hold him on, for he's regularly given up now that he has fallen among friends."

"But the pony: will it carry you both?"

"Oh yes, sir-at a walk. They're plucky little beasts, sir. But we've got him, sir, and that's what I didn't expect. I suppose we mustn't cheer?"

"Cheer? No," said d.i.c.kenson excitedly. "Look here, sergeant; I'm a bit crippled, but I'll have him in front of me."

"But he's on my pony now, sir, with the lads holding him. Had we better drag him down again? He's precious limp, sir; and I'm afraid he's hurt worse than he said."

"Very well; keep as you are," said d.i.c.kenson hurriedly; and, almost unseen, the sergeant mounted behind his charge and began to feel about him for the best way of making the poor fellow as comfortable as possible.

"He's got his sword all right, sir, but his revolver's gone. Stop a moment," continued the sergeant, fumbling in the darkness; "there's the lanyard, but his hat's gone too. There, I've got him nicely now. Mount, my lads."

There was a rustling sound as the men sprang into their saddles again.

"Ready?" said d.i.c.kenson.

"Yes, sir."

"Stop a moment. How are we to find our way back?"

"We shall have to trust to the ponies, sir," said the sergeant. "Let's see; we have turned their heads round over this job. We must leave it to them; they'll find their way back, thinking they're going to get some more mealies. Trust them for that."

"Forward at a walk!" said d.i.c.kenson. "Tut, tut, sergeant! It's as black as pitch. If a breeze would only spring up."

"Dessay it will, sir, before long."

"How does Mr Lennox seem?"

"Head's resting on my clasped hands, sir, and he's sleeping like a baby-regular f.a.gged out."

It was a slow and toilsome march; but the party were in the highest of spirits, and, in the hope of seeing the lights at Groenfontein at the end of an hour or so, they kept on, only pausing now and again to listen for danger and to rearrange Lennox, whose silence began to alarm his friend. But the sergeant a.s.sured him that the poor fellow was sleeping heavily, and they went on again with a dark mental cloud coming over d.i.c.kenson's exhilaration as he thought of the unpleasant news that awaited his friend.

"But a word from him will set that right," he said to himself. "Poor fellow! He must be done up to sleep like that. Why, he never even asked how we got on after the fight."

Chapter Twenty Nine.

In Difficulties.

On and on at the ponies' slow walk through the short scrub or over the bare plain, with the clever little animals seeming to instinctively avoid every stone that was invisible to the riders in the intense darkness. Every now and then a halt was made, one of which their steeds immediately took advantage by beginning to browse on such tender shoots as took their fancy, and again and again the whispered questions were asked:

"How does he seem, sergeant?"

"Fast asleep, sir."

"Hadn't you better let one of the men take your place?"

"Oh no, sir; I'm all right, and so's he."

"Can either of you hear anything?"

"No, sir; only the ponies cropping the bush." Then a faint, "We ought to be getting near home, sergeant."

"Yes, sir."

"Can we do anything more?"

"No, sir; only wish for a row of gas-lamps along a straight road, and it ain't any good to wish for that."

"I can see nothing, sergeant, and the sky seems blacker than the earth."

"Both about the same, sir, I think."

"It is so unfortunate, sergeant, just at a time like this."

"Oh, I don't know, sir; one ought to make the best of things, and weigh one against another."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sir, we're bothered a good deal with the darkness, and we're obliged to do what a human man don't like to do-trust to a dumb animal instead of himself. Of course that's bad; but then, on the other side, we're not running up against any of the enemy, and instead of hunting for hours after a long ride and then not finding what we come for, here we are not having a long dangerous ride at all, and him we wanted to find tumbling right atop of us and in a way of speaking, saying, 'Looking for me, my lads? Here I am!'"

"Yes, we have been very fortunate," said d.i.c.kenson.

"Fortunate, sir? I call it downright lucky."

"Of course-it is. But can we do no more?"

"Not that I see, sir-feel, I mean. We might camp down and let the horses feed till daylight."

"Oh no; let us keep on."

"Very well, sir; then there really is nothing we can do but trust to the ponies. They somehow seem to see in the dark."