to time there was a flash of light--red light--topaz
light--and that changing to a vivid green that looked as if it were
blazing in the burning sun, and he grasped the fact that he was gazing
at some lovely humming bird that darted here and there and then poised
itself, apparently motionless, till he made out that there was a faint
haze visible which must be caused by the rapid vibration of the tiny
creature's wings.

"Yes," he said to himself, "it's as beautiful as can be--that is, it
would be if everything wasn't so silent and still and one didn't know
that people were ready at any moment to take aim at one with rifle or
musket. He said that they used rifles--the wretch! It's a nasty
sensation, when you don't want to shoot any one, to feel that they want
to shoot you."

"Oh, what a while Mr Anderson is!" muttered the lad again. "He might
make haste back to a fellow. He can't be obliged to stop away watching,
and he ought to visit his posts regularly so as to give each of us a bit
of company."

Roberts gazed from his sheltering curtain as far as his eyes could sweep
to left and round to right, going over and over again the arc of the
circle formed by his vision where he had plainly seen movement going on
and people creeping amidst the rich growth of the huge saccharine grass;
but all was motionless and still, and the silence seemed to grow more
and more awful as he watched.

"Oh," he groaned to himself, "why didn't I make a dash for it and follow
old Murray without saying a word? It wouldn't have been half so bad as
this, and even if it had been a more risky task--no, it couldn't have
been more risky than this--I could have borne it better. Wonder where
he is, and whether he would have felt as bad as I do now if he had had
my job. Ugh! It's horribly still, and if old Anderson doesn't come
soon I shall make some excuse and go to him."

"Yes," he continued, "Franky would have felt just as bad as I do. He
must have done. No one could help it. No man could stand this terrible
silence and the sensation that a shot was coming at him. No man could
bear it--no man. Oh, I say, doesn't it seem bumptious for one to think
of himself as a man? Well, why shouldn't I be? It's man's work, at all
events. Oh, I can't stand it. I must make some excuse. I'll ask Mr
Anderson to come and see if he doesn't think there is some one crawling
along there to the right. No, I won't--I can't--I must master it. It's
sheer