Chapter 28. In The Snow

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_ CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. IN THE SNOW

In the tramp which followed, with the hill-men creeping on after them in the same slow, untiring way, Gedge had his eyes about him, and drew forth a sharp order from his officer when he began to deviate a little from the straight course towards a dwarf clump of pines, the highest of which was not above six feet.

"What are you going there for?"

"Want 'em, sir, for rifles," was the reply. Bracy nodded; and upon reaching the clump, a few sharp strokes from the lad's bayonet cut down and trimmed what formed a couple of longish walking-sticks, one of which he handed over to his officer, who used his in the latter capacity, Gedge soon following suit.

"That's what I want them to think, sir," said Gedge, digging his down at every second pace. "Now, sir, what do you say? Don't you think we might edge in more towards the snow?"

"Soon," said Bracy, pointing. "There's just the spot we want;" and, raising his glass, he stopped to examine a group of blocks of stone some fifty yards from the edge of the snowfield, which here sent down a few sharp points, giving it the appearance at a distance of a huge, vandyked piece of white lace.

"Couldn't find a better place if we tried, sir," said Gedge; "but we ain't left ourselves time enough. If we had thought of it sooner, I could have cut out and made the busbies."

"We shall have plenty of time for that to-morrow," said Bracy. "We must manage by tying on handkerchiefs for to-night, and pulling up the great collars as if they were hoods."

A short time after, each with his handkerchief over his head, the pair crouched behind two stones, upon which their helmets had been placed; and beside them the two sticks were planted, so that at a short distance any one would have been deceived and made to believe that a couple of men were on the watch for danger.

Two men were on the watch for danger, but in a different way, both lying prone, Bracy, with his glass to his eyes, carefully sweeping the distance, and keeping it fixed upon the enemy, who looked strangely quiet, as they grouped together and seemed to be feasting.

"Looks as if they meant to settle there, then, for the night, sir," said Gedge, as Bracy reported to him everything he noted.

"Yes; it looks so."

"But we don't trust 'em, bless yer, sir. That's their artfulness; foxing--that's what they're doing. Won't be able to see 'em much longer--will you, sir?"

"No; it's getting dark very fast; but I can make them out, I dare say, till they begin to move."

"Hope you will, sir," said Gedge softly, and lying with his knees bent, kicking his feet about in the air, after the fashion of a boy in a field on a sunny day, and looking quite unconscious of the fact that this night might be one of the most terrible they had ever been called upon to pass.

Some minutes elapsed now in perfect silence, during which a fiery look on the topmost peak of one of the mountains died out slowly into cherry red, and finally became invisible, a few stars twinkling out as the red light died.

"Gedge," said Bracy in a quick whisper, such as he might have uttered had the enemy been close upon them, and about to spring, instead of many hundred yards away.

"Sir?"

"They are on the move."

"Can't see 'em, sir."

"No; and they cannot see us, but I can dimly make them out with the glass. They are separating from their centre, and coming on. Ha! gone. I can see no more."

He put away the glass in the darkness, which now seemed to roll down upon them like a cloud from the mountains, giving the snowfield a ghastly look which made Bracy hesitate.

"I'm afraid it would be better to go off to the left among the stones."

"Don't, sir, pray," said Gedge earnestly.

"But our dark bodies will show against the snow."

"Not they, sir. We'll roll in it, and it'll be darker in half-an-hour. They'll be all that before they get here--won't they?"

"Quite. They are sure to come on very slowly, and allow time for part of them to get right into our rear."

"Yes, sir; that's right."

"Now, then, are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

There was again silence, and, but for the ghostly glare of the snow, all was very dark.

"We seem to be going into the most dangerous place," whispered Bracy, with his breath coming thickly.

"And that's the very place they'll never think we should hide in, sir, if they were likely to think we were going to hide. No, sir: their keen eyes 'll just make out them two 'elmets, and they'll think o' nothing else but driving their long knives into them as wears 'em, from behind. I do hope we shall hear 'em blunting the points against, the stones."

"Have you everything?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then, forward! Go fifty paces slowly over the snow. I shall follow close behind you in your steps."

The snow yielded, so that they were knee-deep, but it was still loose and so sand-like in its grains that as each foot was withdrawn the icy particles flowed together again into each freshly-made hole.

Five minutes later the adventurous pair lay softly down, and rolled over and over a few times, before lying prone upon their chests, each with his head towards the invisible helmets, and near enough to whisper or touch one another with the hand. Their rifles lay by their sides, with the cartouche-boxes handy: and, in case of a close attack, their revolvers were in the right sides of their belts, half dragged round to the back, while each held his dagger-like bayonet in his band.

"Do you feel the cold, Gedge?" whispered Bracy.

"Cold, sir? Why, I'm as hot as hot. This work's too warm for a fellow to feel the cold. Do you, sir?"

"No; my face burns as if with fever, and every nerve tingles with excitement. There, we must not even whisper again."

"Right, sir."

"The first moment you hear a sound of any one approaching, touch my left arm."

"Right, sir; but hadn't I better lie t'other side of you? They'll come that way."

"They'll come from all round at once, my lad. There, don't be afraid. If we are going to have trouble, I dare say you will get your full share. Now, silence; and when they come you must hardly breathe."

Then silence ensued, and seemed to Bracy the most oppressive that he had ever encountered in facing danger. For the solemnity of the night in the great mountains was brooding over them, out of which at any moment death, in the shape of a keen knife, might descend. There was not a breath of air, but an icy chill dropped down from above, making the snow crystals turn sharp and crisp, crackling softly at the slightest movement. But the frosty air had no effect upon them, save to make their blood tingle in their veins and a peculiar, pricking sensation play about their nostrils as they drew their breath, tiny needles of ice twining as they respired, and making a hoar-frost upon Bracy's moustache.

The time went on as if the movement of the earth had been checked by the frost; but, listen as they would, the silence was profound, and a full hour seemed to have passed, though it was not a fourth part of that time.

"They will not come," thought Bracy, as his eyes were turned in every direction he could force them to sweep, and the change appeared very striking from the black atmosphere in front, and right and left to the faint light suggestive of electricity or phosphorescence which made the snow dimly visible.

But the enemy made no sign: and, with that horrible stillness as of death reigning and seeming to crush them into the snow, they lay waiting and longing for some sound--for the coming of the enemy; for the wild excitement of an encounter would, Bracy felt, be far preferable to that maddening suspense.

As he lay there and thought, his ever-active brain was full of suggestions regarding what would take place. The enemy would not dare to come, and a night's sleep would have been lost--they would come, see them with their penetrating eyes, pounce upon them, there would be a few savage unexpected strokes, and all would be over; while poor Colonel Graves would watch and wait, looking ever for the succour that did not come.

"But he will not lose faith in his messengers," Bracy thought, with a thrill of satisfaction running through him. "He will know that I strove to do my best."

Then his thoughts took another direction. Why should not--after the careful preparations made--the _ruse_ be successful, the enemy be deceived, and go in pursuit according to their ideas, leaving the two adventurers free to make their fresh departure? But that, the most natural outcome of the plan, Bracy, in his excitement, set aside as being the least likely to occur, and he lay in agony, straining every nerve to condense his faculties into the one great sense of hearing, till it seemed to him that his companion's breathing sounded preternaturally loud.

"Why, he's asleep! The miserable, careless scoundrel!" thought Bracy. "Those men have no thought beyond the present. How can one trust them? How easily we might be surprised if he were the watch!"

A flush of shame made the thinker's cheeks burn the next moment, he had, in his annoyance, stretched out his left hand to reach dodge's shoulder and give him a violent shake. But half-way he checked the progress of his hand; for, sotting aside the danger of waking a sleeper and making him start and utter some ejaculation, which might betray them to a lurking enemy, he recalled the fact that a touch was to be the signal to announce the coming of the enemy.

The next moment, as his hand lay upon the snow where he had let it fall, another hand was laid upon it, and his fingers were gripped by a set of fingers which held it fast and gave it a firm, steady pressure, to which he warmly responded, his heart beating fast, and a genial glow of satisfaction running through him in his penitence for misjudging his faithful companion.

Then the hand that grasped his was snatched away, and he lay listening and gazing in every direction that he could command for the danger just signalled to him by Gedge. Nothing to right or left, and he dared not stir to look back over the snow. Nothing in front, not a sign of any one near; and in his excitement he began to wonder whether his companion had made a mistake in his over-eagerness, for the silence was more oppressive than ever.

"What was that?"

A spasm shot through the listener, making every nerve and muscle tense as steel; his breath came thick and fast, and the dull, heavy throb, throb of his heart sounded loudly in his brain--so loudly that he held his breath and would have checked the pulsations if he could.

There was no doubt now: the enemy was close at hand, and Bracy's fingers closed over the hilt of his bayonet with a tremendous grip, for he felt that his revolver would be useless in that terrible darkness, and he shrank from wasting a shot.

He could see nothing, but there was the danger just in front in the snow of those thirty yards which lay between them and the rocks. That danger was represented to the listeners in imagination by the figure--two figures--of the white-coated enemy, crawling slowly as huge worms might, have progressed over the snow. At times they were perfectly still, but ever and again there was the extremely gentle, crackling sound of the icy grains rubbing together with a soft, rustling sound, no more than a snake would have made passing along a dusty track.

Bracy strained his eyes, but he could see nothing. He could not tell whether the two enemies were a yard or ten or twenty away from where he lay; but his straining ears told him that they were there, passing him from right to left, and he felt convinced that others must be moving slowly from all directions towards that one point, where the helmets were placed upon the pieces of stone.

So far, then, all was right; but he felt that at any moment he might hear others coming along behind, and those might strike the very spot where they two were lying.

Thought after thought of this kind flashed through Bracy's brain, as he tightened his hold of the bayonet, and held it point upward ready for use against his first assailant, while the strange crepitation of the frozen snow went on for what seemed like a long period, so greatly was everything magnified by the excitement through which it was mentally viewed.

By degrees, though, the creeping sound, which had seemed to stop more than once, ceased entirely, and the listeners waited quite half-an-hour, fancying twice over that they heard the faint click of stone against stone; but they could not be sure, and they dared not communicate otherwise than by a pressure of the hand, for there was still the possibility of the enemy being close in front. Though as the minutes crawled slowly by, and no fresh sound was heard, the feeling grew stronger and stronger that they had attributed the creeping noise to the enemy, when it was probably some inoffensive wild creature seeking for food, while the enemy had passed the spot in the dark, and were by now far away.

Bracy had just come to this conclusion, and had begun to think of the wisdom of crawling off the snow, which was beginning to melt beneath him from the warmth of his body, when his heart gave a leap as if some nerve had received a sudden twitch. For there came low and clear from a short distance away a peculiar sound such as might be produced by a night-bird on the wing. Then all was still once more.

"Was that a signal?" thought Bracy; "or have we been deceived?"

He thought earnestly, and felt that, after all, the enemy would under the circumstances act just as they were acting. There seemed to be an excess of caution, but none too much, approaching as they would be to surprise whoever was on the watch, and going with their lives literally in their hands.

"Phit!"

The same low, peculiar sound again, making Bracy start into a wild fit of excitement. Then there was a quick running as of many feet towards the central spot, followed by clink, clink, clink--the striking of steel on stone, and then a momentary silence, followed by a peculiar rumbling and a burst of voices.

"Gug!"

Bracy turned sharply, bayonet in hand, ready to strike, for the horrible thought struck him that Gedge had just received a tierce thrust which pinned him to the frozen snow; but as he leaned in his direction a hand touched his wrist and gave it a grip, holding it tightly, and making him draw a deep breath full of relief.

Meanwhile the voices increased, their owners talking fiercely, and though the tongue was almost unintelligible, a word was caught here and there, and they grasped the fact that every man seemed to want to talk at once, and to be making suggestions.

But the speakers did not keep to one place. As far as Bracy could make out, they had broken up into parties, which hurried here and there, one coming so near to where the listeners lay that they felt that their time for action had come at last, and, palpitating with excitement, they prepared to meet the first attack.

And now Bracy heard a sound as of some one breathing hard, and turned his head sharply to whisper a word of warning to his companion; but it was not uttered, for the sound came from beyond him, and with its repetition came the sound of laborious steps being taken through the snow, he who made them panting hard with the exertion as he came on to within a couple of yards of Gedge, and then suddenly turned off and made for the rocks.

He made so much noise now that he knew there was no need for concealment, that Gedge took advantage of the man getting more distant to reach over to his officer and whisper, with his lips close to Bracy's ear:

"That chap 'll never know how near he was to leaving off snoring like that, sir, for good."

"Hush!" whispered Bracy, and a fresh burst of talking arose as if to greet the man who had returned to the rocks from making a circuit round the trap.

And now it seemed as if the whole party were spreading out and coming towards where the couple lay, for the voices sounded louder and came nearer, making Bracy gently raise himself ready to hurry his follower away: but the sounds came no closer, the speakers pausing at the edge of the snow, where it sounded as if their plans were; being discussed.

Then all at once the talking ceased, and the beat of many feet, with the rattling of loose stones, fell on the listener's ears, telling that the enemy was in motion; and the sounds they made grew fainter and fainter, and then died out entirely.

"They seem to be gone," whispered Bracy, with his lips close to Gedge's ear.

"Oh yes, they're gone, sir, at last," was the reply.

"We must not be too sure. A few may be left behind to keep watch."

"Not them, sir. I can't see as it's likely."

Bracy was silent for a few moments, during which he listened intently for the faintest sound; but all was still.

"Get up," he said briefly, and then started at his own voice, it sounded so husky and strange.

Gedge uttered a sigh of relief as he shook the adhering snow from his woolly coat.

"Stiff, Gedge?" said Bracy.

"Horrid, sir. A good fight wouldn't come amiss. Hear me laugh, sir?"

"When you made that sound?"

"Yes, sir: that bit would come out, though I'd shut my mouth with my hand."

"What made you laugh at such a time?"

"To hear them cuttin' and stabbin' at the rocks, sir, and blunting their knives."

"Oh, I see!"

"Wonder whether they chopped our 'elmets, sir. Would you mind ordering me to see if there's any bits left?"

"The task is of no good," said Bracy. "But we'll walk back to the place and try if we can find them. Take out your revolver. No. Fix bayonets--we could use them better now."

There was a faint clicking, and then, with their rifles levelled, the pair marched laboriously off the snow, and then cautiously felt their way among the stones, Bracy's main object being to find out for certain that there were no sentries left. The noise they could not help making among the stones proved this directly, and they unwittingly, in spite of the darkness, went straight to the spot where they had set up the sticks and helmets, when Gedge uttered a low cry full of excitement.

"Why, they never come across 'em, sir. I've got 'em, standing here just as we left 'em. Well, I'm blessed! I know the difference by the feel. That's yours, sir, and this is mine. Talk about luck! Ha! I feel better now. Woolly busbies is all very well, but they don't look soldierly. I could have made some right enough, but we should ha' wanted to take 'em off before we got back to the fort."

"A splendid bit of luck, Gedge," said Bracy as he drew the strap of his helmet beneath his chin. "Now for our next step. What do you think?"

"Wittles, sir. Can't think o' nothing else just now. I should say, with what we've got to do, the next thing's to begin stoking before our fires go out." _

Read next: Chapter 29. Awful Moments

Read previous: Chapter 27. A Question Of Helmets

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