"Ah!" said the Sergeant, tapping the ashes out of his pipe and refilling
it; "that's a bit of a puzzle, sir."
"Hang out the white flag?" cried Denham bitterly.
"No, sir," cried the Sergeant fiercely.
"What then?" I said.
"What then, sir?" said Briggs fiercely. "We've got plenty of pluck and
lots of fight in the boys."
"Yes," said Denham, with his eyes flashing. "Plenty of prime beef and
good fresh water, Briggs; but scarcely any cartridges."
"That's right, sir; and so I took the liberty, when I got a chance, of
saying a word to the Colonel."
"What about?"
"The Doppies' ammunition-wagons, sir."
"Ah!" cried Denham, rising to his elbow. "I ventured to say, sir, that
the young officer as brought in our supply of provisions would have laid
himself flat down on the top o' the wall and watched with his glass till
he had made out where the best spot was, and then after dark he'd have
gone out and made a try to capture one of the ammunition-wagons, and
brought it in."
"Impossible, Sergeant," said Denham.
"Bah! That word isn't in a soldier's dictionary, sir. You'd have done
it if you'd been well enough."
"But the cartridges mightn't fit our rifles, Sergeant."
"Mightn't, sir; but they might. Then, if the first lot didn't, you'd
have gone again and again till you had got the right sort. If none of
'em was the right sort, why, you'd ha' said, `There's more ways of
killing a cat than hanging it,' and gone on another plan."
"What other plan?" I said sharply. "There is no other plan."
"Isn't there?" said the Sergeant, grinning. "They've got one wagon that
I can swear to, having made it out through the glass Mr Denham lent me,
full of spare rifles of the men put out of action."
"Of course, of course," cried Denham. "Oh dear! oh dear!" he groaned,
falling back again with a pitiful look in his eyes. "I'm lying here,
completely done for. Why can't that doctor put us right?"
The Sergeant smoked on for a few minutes, looking fiercer than ever.
"Where's Sam Wren, sir?" he said suddenly.
"He was fretting so much last night at being kept in hospital," I
replied, "that the doctor said he might rejoin his troop."
"Glad of that. He's one of our best shots. But what's gone of your
blacky, Mr Moray?"
"Joeboy? I don't know," I said. "Isn't he with the horses? Oh, of
course he'd be looking after mine."
"He ain't, then," said the Sergeant.
"What!" I cried excitedly; "then what about my horse? I've been lying
here thinking of nothing but myself. I ought to have seen to him."
"Couldn't," said the Sergeant dryly. "But he's all right."
"Are you sure?" I cried.