o to sleep--on
dooty, Sergeant? Not me!--I--I--ha-h-h!"

Poor Gedge was only human, and his drowsy head sank across Bracy's
breast, so wrapped in sleep that the firing of a rifle by his ear would
hardly have roused him up.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

LIKE A DYING DOG.

The sun was rapidly going down towards the western peaks, which stood
out dark and clear against the golden orange sky, when Gedge opened his
eyes and began to stare in a vacant way at a little peculiarly shaded
brown leather case which rose and fell in regular motion a few inches
from his nose. He watched it for some minutes, feeling very comfortable
the while, for his pillow was warm; though it seemed strange to him that
it should move gently up and down. But he grew more wakeful a minute
later, and told himself that he knew why it was. He and two London
companions had made up their minds to tramp down into Kent for a
holiday, and to go hop-picking, and they slept under haystacks, in
barns, or in the shade of trees; and at such times as the nights were
cool and they had no covering they huddled together to get warm, taking
in turns that one of the party should lie crosswise and play pillow for
the benefit of his two companions.

It was one of his comrades that time, and the sun was rising, so they
ought to be stirring to see about, something for breakfast. But in his
drowsy state he could not make out that this was six years ago, nor yet
what this brown leather thing was which kept going up and down.

Then all at once he could. It was not six years ago, neither was it
early morning, but close upon sunset; that movement was caused by
Bracy's respirations, and the brown leather case contained the little
field-glass; while the well-drilled soldier, and one of the smartest
lads in Captain Roberts's company, had shamefully disgraced himself by
going to sleep at his post.

Before he had half-thought this he was upon his feet, to stoop again and
pick up his rifle, and then begin stamping up and down with rage.

"Oh!" he groaned; "I ought to be shot--I ought to be shot! Why, the
niggers might ha' come and knifed Mr Bracy as he lay there helpless as
a kid, and all through me. Slep'? Why, I must ha' slep' hours upon
hours. What's the good o' saying you couldn't help it, sir? You ought
to have helped it. Call yourself a soldier, and go to sleep at your
post in the face of the enemy! That's what the Colonel will say. I
can't never face no on