He hesitated. Then he looked up at her steadily.
"Miss Mellen, I am sure I don't know," he answered gravely.
"Beastly shame that the Boers hadn't buried themselves instead of the guns!" Carew remarked, as he wrestled with a tough thong of bully beef which yielded to his jaws much as an India-rubber eraser might have done.
Without making any pretence of extracting nutriment from his own ration, Weldon converted it into a missile and hurled it straight at his companion.
"There's this difference," he returned pithily; "a gun is a good enough fellow to deserve Christian burial. Carew, do you ever yearn for the fleshpots?"
Without bringing his jaws to a halt, Carew shook his head.
"Do you?" he asked, after a prolonged interval.
"Yes, if they could be brought here; not otherwise. I like the game; but I also like a little more oats mixed with my fodder. How long is it since we had a square meal?"