Part 36 (1/2)

Chapter Twenty Five.

A Forlorn-Hope for Food.

Sergeant Briggs stared, and looked so puzzled that we laughed the more.

”Beg pardon, gentlemen,” he said, speaking as if huffed, ”have I said something stoopid?”

”Tell him, Val,” cried Denham; and I explained why we laughed.

”Oh, I see,” he said good-humouredly. ”I thought I was being laughed at. Well, I don't know, Mr Denham, sir; I don't think the idee's quite so wild as you fancy.”

”Oh, it's impossible, Sergeant.”

”No, sir, begging your pardon, it isn't. It's the cheek of the thing might carry it off. I like it.”

”Yes; your mouth waters for the stores, Sergeant.”

”Maybe, sir; but if I was you I should go straight to the Colonel and tell him.”

”So as to be laughed at for a fool,” said Denham. ”The chief's in no laughing humour, sir,” said the Sergeant stolidly. ”He ought to be in hospital with that cut on the leg he got; but he won't give up, though I've seen him turn whitey-brown and come out all over the face with big drops. That means pain. No; he won't laugh.”

”Then he'll growl at us, and tell us to be off for a pair of idiots.”

”Well, I'll risk it,” I said firmly.

”Will you? Young fellow,” cried Denham, ”don't you presume on my friendliness and forget that you're a private in my troop.”

”It's my duty to let the Colonel know,” I said warmly.

”Yes, through your superior officer. Well, look here; perhaps you're right. Let's go to him at once.”

We descended after another look at the Boer lines, and found the Colonel resting against a block of granite, with his injured leg lying in a bed of sand. He listened attentively, after Denham's introduction, to all I had to say. Then he sat in perfect silence, frowning, and tugging at his long moustache. I was as uncomfortable as ever I had been, and wished I had not come; but soon a change came over me, for the Colonel spoke.

”Capital,” he said sharply. ”But-”

My hopes went down to zero again, but rose as he went on, taking the right line of thought: ”It can only be done by sheer bravado. It is the utter recklessness of the ruse that would carry it through. Do you think, Moray, you could do this without breaking down at the supreme moment?”

”I think so, sir.”

”That's good,” said the Colonel; ”there's a frank modesty about that 'think.' But do you dare to run the risk for the sake of your officers and brother-privates, who are in a very tight place?”

”I don't think now, sir,” I said: ”I dare go.”

”Then you shall, Moray.”

”To-night, sir?”

”No: have a night's sleep and a quiet day to-morrow to think out your plans. You will be fresher then. There, I'm in pain, and I want a few hours' rest to set me up. One minute,” he added as I turned to go. ”How many know about this?”