His
chance had come, and he meant to make the most of it.
CHAPTER IV
A RUSE OF WAR
'Dave, will you come?' said Ken.
'Will a terrier hunt rats?' was Dave's answer.
'And I want Roy Horan, sergeant, if he's alive. He's a New Zealander.'
'Pass the word for Horan,' said the sergeant, and the whisper went rapidly
down the long trench.
'Who'll be the fourth?' Ken asked of Dave.
'Take Dick Norton. He's a Queensland ex-trooper. He's been in with the
black trackers, and moves like a dingo.'
'The very man,' said Ken. 'Where is he?'
Norton, as it happened, was only a few yards away. He came up eagerly, a
slim, dark man with keen gray eyes and a nose like a hawk's beak.
A moment later, and Roy Horan's giant form came slipping rapidly up to the
little group, and Ken at once explained what was wanted.
'Carrington, you're an angel in khaki,' said Horan rejoicingly. 'I'm your
debtor for life.'
'Which same will not be a long one if ye don't kape that big body o'yours
under cover,' said O'Brien dryly, as a bullet, striking the parapet,
spattered earth all over them.
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