"Bah! Nonsense!"

"That's what I thought, comrade. But steady! Here he is again."

"Ah, my young friend!" said the _contrabandista_, holding out his hand.

"Better after your long sleep?"

"Better? Yes," replied Pen eagerly. "Leg's very stiff; but I am ready to go on. Are we to march again?"

"Well, no, there's not much chance of that, for we are pretty well surrounded by the enemy, and here we shall have to stay unless we can beat them off."

"Where are we? What place is this?" asked Pen rather confusedly.

"One of our hiding-places, my friend, where we store up our goods and stable the mules when the pa.s.s near here is blocked up by snow or the frontier guards. Well, how do you feel now? Ready to go into hiding where you will be safe, or are you ready to help us against your enemies the French?"

"Will there be fighting?" asked Pen eagerly.

"You may be pretty sure of that; but I don't want to force you two wounded young fellows into taking part therein unless you are willing."

"I am willing," said Pen decisively; "but it's only fair that I should ask my comrade, who is only one of the buglers of my regiment."

"Oh, of course," said the smuggler captain, "a non-combatant. He carries a musket, I see, like yourself."

"Yes," replied Pen, with a smile, "but it is only a French piece. We belong to a rifle-regiment by rights."

"Yes; I have heard of it," said the smuggler.

"Well, I will ask him," said Pen, "for he doesn't understand a word we are saying.--Punch," he continued, addressing the boy, "the _contrabandista_ wants to know whether we will fire a few shots against the French who are trying to take the Spanish King."

"Where do they want to take him?" cried the boy eagerly.

"Back to prison."

"Why, of course we will," said the boy sharply. "What do you want to ask that for?"

"Because he knows that you are not a private soldier, but a bugle-boy."

"Well, I can't help that, can I? I am a-growing, and I dare say I could hit a haystack as well as a good many of our chaps. They ain't all of them so clever because they are a bit older than I am."

"Well, don't get into a tiff, Punch. This isn't a time to show your temper."

"Who's a-showing temper? I can't help being a boy. What does he want to chuck that in a fellow's teeth for?"

"Quiet! Quiet!" said Pen, smiling. "Then I am to tell him that you are ready to have a shot or two at the enemy?"

"Well, I do call you a pretty comrade!" said the boy indignantly. "I should have thought you would have said yes at once, instead of parlyvooing about it like that.--Right, sir!" cried the boy, catching up his musket, giving it two or three military slaps, and drawing himself up as if he had just heard the command, "Present arms!"

"_Bon_!" said the smuggler, smiling; and he gave the boy a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Ah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Punch, "that's better," as the smuggler now turned away to speak to a group of his men who were standing keeping watch behind some rocks a short distance away.--"I say, comrade--you did tell me once, but I forgetted it--what does _bong_ mean?"

"Good."

"Ho! All right. _Bong_! I shall remember that next time. Fire a few shots! I am game to go on shooting as long as the cartridges last; and my box is full. How's yours?"

"Only half," replied Pen.

"Oh, well, fair-play's a jewel; share and share alike. Here, catch hold. That looks like fair measure. We don't want to count them, do we?"

"Oh no, that's quite near enough."

"Will we fire a few shots at the French?" continued Punch eagerly. "I should just think we will! Father always said to me, 'Pay your debts, my boy, as long as the money lasts;' and though it ain't silver and copper here, it's cartridges and--There! Ain't it rum, comrade? Now, I wonder whether you feel the same. The very thought of paying has made the pain in my back come again. I say, how's your leg?"

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

A CAVERNOUS BREAKFAST.

"I say, comrade," whispered Punch; "are we going to begin soon?"

The boys were seated upon a huge block of stone watching the coming and going of the _contrabandistas_, several of whom formed a group in a nook of the natural amphitheatre-like chasm in which they had made their halt.

This seemed to be the entrance to a gully, down which, as they waited, the lads had seen the smuggler-leader pa.s.s to and fro several times over, and as far as they could make out away to their left lay the track by which they had approached during the night; but they could not be sure.

That which had led them to this idea was the fact that it seemed as if sentries had been stationed somewhere down there, one of whom had come hurriedly into the amphitheatre as if in search of his chief.

"I say, comrade," said Punch, repeating his question rather impatiently, "aren't we going to begin soon? I feel just like old O'Grady."

"How's that, Punch?"

"What he calls 'spoiling for a fight, me boy.'"

"Oh, you needn't feel like that, Punch," said Pen, smiling.

"Well, don't you?"

"No. I never do. I never want to kill anybody."

"You don't? That ain't being a good soldier."

"I can't help that, Punch. Of course, when one's in for it I fire away like the rest; but when I'm cool I somehow don't like the feeling that one has killed or wounded some brave man."

"Oh, get out," cried the boy, "with your 'killed or wounded some brave man!' They ain't brave men--only Frenchies."

"Why, Punch, there are as brave men amongst the French as amongst the English."

"Get out! I don't believe that," said the boy. "There can't be. If there were, how could our General with his little bit of an army drive the big army of Frenchies about as he does? Ask any of our fellows, and they will tell you that one Englishman is worth a dozen Frenchies. Why, you must have heard them say so."