CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
DENHAM PROVES TO BE RIGHT.
In a few minutes the Major had joined the Colonel, and soon every officer and man in the old fortification was waiting breathlessly for information as to what intelligence regarding the movements of the enemy the two stern-looking men up on the wall were gathering into their brains through their glasses--intelligence far beyond the ken of the sentries, whose duty it was to keep strict watch upon the great circle which was formed by the Boer lines.
There was no hurry or bustle; but our trumpeter had buckled his sword-belt and taken down his instrument from where it hung, and then stationed himself upon one of the blocks of stone in the great courtyard, watching his chiefs, and holding his instrument ready, while his eyes seemed about to start out of his head in his excitement.
Everywhere it was the same.

Men glided about here and there, after a glance at the ranges of rifles against the wall, with their well-filled bandoliers, and only paused at last where each could dart to his horse, ready to saddle and bridle the tethered beast.

The officers were also silently preparing--buckling on their swords, taking revolvers from their belt-holsters, and filling the chambers from their cartridge-pouches, quite mechanically, without taking their eyes off the watchers on the wall.

But in spite of all these preparations no sounds were heard save those made by the horses--an impatient stamp or pawing at the stones, followed by a snort or a whinnying neigh.
I did as the rest had done.

Meeting Denham after his return from the sheltered spot occupied by the officers, we stood together, looking up at the wall.
"What a long time they are taking!" whispered Denham impatiently.