He left the
sentry in no doubt, either of the truth of his statement, or of his
mood. Then, with Kruger Bobs at his side, he plodded forward towards
the lights of the town, while he braced himself for a final effort.
Fifteen minutes later, he reached the second line of pickets. The
gray broncho's head drooped pitifully, as Weldon sat waiting for the
inevitable challenge. It came at last; and Weldon's answering voice
was slow with a weakness which was not all feigned.
"Despatches from Dixon's column. Take me to the Commandant, please."
He was dimly aware of a hand on his bridle, dimly conscious that
Piggie was being led forward for a seemingly endless distance. As
they halted in front of a gray stone building, Weldon dimly heard
the tingling of many bells within, then the hurried opening of a
window, and a voice demanding the cause of the disturbance below. He
felt himself going fast; but, gripping his will with all his might,
he pulled himself together long enough to answer,--
"Despatches for General Kekewich between the soles of my left boot."
Then he pitched forward on his broncho's neck.
CHAPTER TEN
"Twelve inches make one foot, six feet make one man, sixty men make
one troop, four troops make one squadron," the monotonous voice ran
on.
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