Then they drew off to sulk and make fresh
plans at a distance, and Bellairs took his section unmolested into
the Thirty-third-lined rampart round the magazine.
"What kept you, sir?" demanded Colonel Forrester-Carter, nodding
to him in answer to his salute and holding out his right arm while
a sergeant bandaged it.
"My wife, sir--I--"
"Where is she? Didn't you bring her?"
"No, sir--I--"
"Where is she?"
"Still at Hanadra, sir--I--"
"Let the men fall in! Call the roll at once!"
"There was nothing in my orders, sir, about--" But Colonel Carter
cut him short with a motion and turned his back on him.
"Much obliged, Sergeant," he said, slipping his wounded arm into an
improvised sling. "How many wagons have we here?"
"Four, sir."
"And horses?"
"All shot dead except your charger, sir."
"Oh! Ask Captain Trevor to come here."
The sergeant disappeared into the shadows, and a moment later Captain
Trevor came running up and saluted.
"There are seven wounded, sir, and nineteen dead," he reported.
"Better than I had hoped, Trevor! Will you set a train to that magazine,
please, and blow it up the moment we are at a safe distance?"
Trevor seemed surprised, but he saluted and said nothing.
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