But even at the second, where the sleeping figure remained, the country was wilder, almost touching the "skirts of the hills," and so, when George Afford roused himself--as the animals rouse themselves to meet the coming cool of evening--a ravine deer was standing within easy shot, looking at him with head thrown back and wide, startled nostrils, scenting the unknown.
The sight stirred something in the man which had slept the sleep of the dead for years; that keen delight of the natural man, not so much in the kill as in the chase; not so much in the mere chase itself as in its efforts--its freedom. He rose, stretching his long arms in what was half a yawn, half a vague inclination to shake himself free of some unseen burden.
But that night he swore at Peroo for leading him a fool's dance; he threatened to go back. He was not so helpless as all that. He was not a slave; he would have his tot of rum like any other soldier as--
"_Huzoor_," interrupted Peroo, deferentially, "this slave is aware that many things necessary to the _Huzoor's_ outfit as a soldier remain to be produced. But with patience all may be attained. Here, by God's grace, is the rifle. One of us--Smith-_sahib_ of G Company, _Huzoor_--found freedom to-day. He was reconnoitring with Griffiths, Major-_sahib_, when one of these hell-doomed _Sheeahs_--whom Heaven destroy--shot him from behind a rock--"
Private George Afford seemed to find his feet suddenly. "Smith of G Company?" he echoed in a different voice.
"_Huzoor!_--the _sahib_ whom the _Huzoor_ thrashed for thrashing this slave--"
"Poor chap!" went on George Afford, as if he had not heard. "So they've nicked him--but we'll pay 'em out--we--" His fingers closed mechanically on the rifle Peroo was holding out to him.
It was a fortnight after this, and the camp lay clustered closely in the mouth of a narrow defile down which rushed a torrent swollen from the snows above; a defile which meant decisive victory or defeat to the little force which had to push their way through it to the heights above. Yet, though death, maybe, lay close to each man, the whole camp was in an uproar because Major Griffiths' second pair of _putties_ had gone astray. The other officers had been content with one set of these woollen bandages which in hill-marching serve as gaiters, and help so much to lessen fatigue; but the Major, being methodical, had provided against emergencies. And now, when, with that possibility of death before him, his soul craved an extreme order in all things, his clean pair had disappeared. Now the Major, though silent, always managed to say what he meant. So it ran through the camp that they had been stolen, and men compared notes over the fact in the mess-tent and in the canteen.