enough to break our necks,” grumbled Roberts. “Here, I say, it will be dark soon; look how black it looks below. I wish those fellows had not cheered; it was like telling the enemy we were coming on, for they must be round the corner yonder. There – look!”
As he spoke one of the men in front suddenly turned and pointed to where the gorge was at its narrowest.
“Yes, we can see them, my lad. Keep a sharp lookout to the rear,” he shouted to the men behind. “We shall be hearing from them now, Bracy, for, take my word for it, they’re flocking along the path. Well, we shall have to fight in the dark, old man, like rats, in this confounded trap.”
“Very well,” said Bracy between his teeth, as he took out and examined the chambers of his revolver, before he replaced it in its leather holster; “if the dogs do come on I mean to bite.”
Chapter Seven
Boots for Booty
“Well, you needn’t bite this time, old fellow,” cried Roberts, with a sigh of relief, as a burst of cheers arose faintly from the front once more, to be taken up and run down the column, even the native mule and camel drivers joining in, till it reached the company which formed the rear-guard. “What does this mean?” cried Bracy excitedly. “That we’re too far back to know what is going on in the front. Those are not enemies, but friends.”
“What! people from the station come to meet us?”
“That’s the right nail, struck well on the head, old chap; and I’m jolly glad of it, for I feel more like feeding than fighting, I can tell you.”
“Roberts, old fellow, this seems too good to be true,” cried Bracy joyfully.
“But for once in a way it is true. Push on, my lads; there’ll be something better than bullets for a welcome to-night.”
Roberts was right, for upon the last of the weary beasts bearing the baggage reaching the end of the defile, the young officers found themselves face to face with a couple of companies of their fellow-countrymen, bronzed, toil-worn looking men, many of them bearing the marks of hardly-healed sword-cuts, and looking overstrained and thin as if from anxiety and overwork, but one and all with their faces lit up by the warmth of the welcome they were ready to give the regiment which had come to their help.
The bandsmen played their best as they led the way across the lovely amphitheatre into which the gorge had opened out, towards where, high up along the northern side, and upon the rocky bank, stood the station and town of Ghittah. The river, which here flowed smooth and deep, seemed as if of ruddy golden metal, as it glistened in the rays of the sun dipping down behind the snow-mountains which shut them in. And every now and then the cheery echoing strains of the band were pretty well drowned by the cheers and counter-cheers of the relievers and the relieved.
Bracy felt his breast swell with pleasure at the warmth of the welcome, for the fraternisation was complete, the war-worn veterans seeming as if they could not make enough of the raw striplings marching by their sides towards where the British colours could be seen floating over the grim castle-like place that had been the home of one of the old hill-chiefs till the district was added to the British dominions. But look which way he would, the young officer could see no trace of the enemy.
Birds of a feather flock together naturally, and before half a mile had been covered a tall, thin, boyish-looking officer, with a star of merit in the shape of a series of strips of diachylon upon his brow, gravitated towards the rear-guard and suddenly joined their ranks, holding out and shaking hands with the new-comers.
“How are you?” he cried. “How are you? I say, don’t look at a fellow like that. I’m an awful scarecrow, I know; but I’m Drummond – Tom Drummond of ours.”
“Oh, you look right enough,” cried Bracy merrily. “Only a bit of the polish rubbed off.”
“And a bit chipped,” said Roberts, laughing.
“Eh? Oh, this!” cried their new friend. “Getting better, though, now. Doesn’t improve a fellow.”
“Doesn’t it?” cried Bracy. “I should be proud of such an order.”
“It’s very good of you to say so,” said the young subaltern, with his eyes glistening.
“How did you get it?” asked Roberts.
“Oh, in a scrimmage with those treacherous beasts. They’d got me and about a dozen of the lads in a corner among the rocks, and it was either stand still and be cut up or make a dash with the bayonet. There were about fifty of ’em.”
“So you made a dash?”
“Yes, but only six of us got through, and all damaged. One big fellow was nourishing a sharp tulwar, and he was in the act of cutting down one of my fellows, and I went at him to try and save the poor lad, but I was too late. The great brute cut him down and rushed at me.”
“Well?” said Bracy, for the thin, boyish-looking officer stopped, and looked red.
“Oh, I gave point, and got well home. I put all my strength into it, and it brought me so close that instead of having my head split by his blade I had the hilt on my forehead here. It struck in a nasty place, but being, as my old Latin coach said, awfully thick-skulled, the pommel of the tulwar didn’t break through. I say, though – never mind that – have either of you fellows a spare pair of boots? I can swap a lot of loot with you – fancy swords and guns and a chief’s helmet – for them. Look; I’ve come down to this.”
He laughed and held up one leg, the lower part of which was bound in puttees, while the foot was covered with a bandaged raw-hide sandal.
“Not smart on parade,” said Bracy, laughing, “but good to keep off corns.”
“Yes,” said the subaltern; “but I’m blest if they keep out chilblains. Oh, crumpets, how my feet do itch of a night by the fire.”
“Well, I should say my boots are about your size. Roberts’s wouldn’t lit. He has such big, ugly feet.”
“Come, I like that, Bracy. Hang it all! my trotters look liliputian beside his.”
“Now,” said Bracy mockingly; “but wait till you can see Drummond’s feet. Look here,” he added, turning to the subaltern; “you have a pair of Roberts’s too; they’ll do for goloshes.”
“I don’t care how old they are, so long as they are boots.”
“All right, old fellow; we’ll set you up with anything we’ve got,” said Bracy.
“Bless you, my children!” cried the young officer. “Bless you! Never mind the dramatic business. Oh, I say, we are all glad you’ve come.”
“You’ve been in a tight corner, then?”
“Tight? We’ve lost a third of our number, and were beginning to think the Government was going to let us be quite wiped off the slate. Here, I feel like a schoolboy again, and want to cheer.”
“All right; cheer, then,” cried Bracy, smiling, and clapping the speaker on the shoulder as if he had known him for years.
“No; hoarse as a crow now, and I want my breath to talk. I say, we have been sharp set. We began to feel like the talking parrot who was plucked by the monkey,
