There's no knowing, though, what it is.
Send four men on, two hundred yards ahead of you, and you and the
rest keep a good two hundred yards ahead of the guns. See that the
men keep on the alert, and mind that they spare their horses as much
as possible. If there's going to be trouble, we may just as well
be ready for it!"
"Very good, sir!"
"Go ahead, then!"
At a word from the sergeant, four men clattered off and were swallowed
in the darkness. A minute later the advance-guard followed them and
then, after another minute's pause, young Bellairs' voice was raised
into a ringing shout again.
"Section, advance! Trot, march!"
The trace-chains tightened, and the clattering, bumping, jingling
procession began again, its rear brought up by the six-horse ammunition-
wagon. They rode speechless for the best part of an hour, each man's
eyes on the distant conflagration that had begun now to light up
the whole of the sky ahead of them. They still rode in darkness,
but they seemed to be approaching the red rim of the Pit. Huge,
billowing clouds of smoke, red-lit on the under side, belched upward
to the blackness overhead, and a something that was scarcely sound--
for it was yet too distant--warned them that it was no illusion they
were riding into.
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