Dick
felt unhappy. To outface an English officer is no small thing, but the bluff
loses relish when one plays it from the utter dark, and stumbles up and down
rough ways, thinking and eternally thinking of what might have been if things
had fallen out otherwise, and all had been as it was not.
George shared his meal with Dick and went off to the mule-lines. His charge sat
alone in a shed with his face in his hands. Before his tight-shut eyes danced
the face of Maisie, laughing, with parted lips. There was a great bustle and
clamour about him. He grew afraid and almost called for George.
"I say, have you got your mules ready?" It was the voice of the subaltern over
his shoulder.
"My man's looking after them. The--the fact is I've a touch of ophthalmia and
can't see very well.
"By Jove! that's bad. You ought to lie up in hospital for a while. I've had a
turn of it myself. It's as bad as being blind."
"So I find it. When does this armoured train go?"
"At six o"clock. It takes an hour to cover the seven miles."
"Are the Fuzzies on the rampage--eh?"
"About three nights a week. Fact is I'm in acting command of the night-train.
It generally runs back empty to Tanai for the night."
"Big camp at Tanai, I suppose?"
"Pretty big.
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