"Sorry, for you are doomed to more of it."
"Another herd of bronchos?" Weldon's voice showed that the idea
displeased him.
"No; but a two-hundred-mile trek across country."
"Good. I am tired of being cooped up, and a spin of that kind will
be a boon."
Carew settled back on his heels and looked up at him.
"Spin is it! Your only spin will be on your own axis. We are to act
as escort for a convoy train of fifty wagons and ten times fifty
mules. We shall make six miles a day, and our tongues will be wholly
corrupted by the language of the mule-drivers. And, in the end, we
shall get to--"
"A glorious fight, I trust," Weldon supplemented.
Gloomily Carew shook his head. "No; merely to Winburg. We are going
to provision Weppener and Ladybrand, and then make for the railroad
again. We'll strike it at Winburg most likely. It is an unholy sort
of hole, and I hear that the hotel serves watered ink and currant
jelly under the name of claret. We shall sit there and sip it, until
the train arrives, and then we shall entrain and come back again.
And this," he emphasized his words by plumping forward on his knees
once more; "and this is war!"
"Yes; but it lets us out on a longer leash than I have had for some
time," Weldon said serenely.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191