"Your grandson can ride a horse?" he asked old Marco. "Tchk! The boy sat a horse as soon as he could walk," replied the old man, with a laugh. "Then I want to send him with a note to our men. Will you instruct him?" He wrote in his pocket-book a note explaining that Captain Enderby, wounded, with himself and two Serbians, both slightly wounded, were holding a tower in the hills some ten miles south of Strumitza. They expected to be attacked by a Bulgarian column moving south-west across the hills to cut the British line of retreat, and would hold out as long as possible. Their greatest need, if attacked in force, would be ammunition; and he pointed out that the position would be hopeless against artillery. Tearing the leaf out, he folded it, addressed it to "Any British Officer," and gave it to Marco, who tucked it inside his tunic. As soon as dawn glimmered the boy mounted one of the horses and set off, disappearing into the mist. "We had better take the horses out," Burton suggested. "They will only hamper us here; besides, we may as well keep them alive if we can." On old Marco agreeing, Milosh led the horses to the dell where the oxen had been tethered overnight, tied them together, and hobbled them to heavy fragments of rock. Meanwhile the others strengthened the cart barricade, blocked up the entrance to the tower with stones, broken timber, and other rubbish, and placed the machine-gun at a narrow window commanding the track. Then Burton climbed the ladder leading to the top of the tower, to examine the country through his glasses; but the heavy white mist hid everything from view. Guns boomed incessantly; the sounds were little louder than they had been in the night. It was clear that the British retirement was being conducted without hurry. When he came down he found that Nuta had got ready a meal for his party and the three prisoners. With these latter, since his arrival at the tower, he had had no conversation. Now, however, Captain von Hildenheim addressed him. "Major Schwartzkopf demands to know vat you do," he said. "Ze major shpeak no English." Burton glanced at the elder German, who stared at him with mingled insolence and sullenness. "Tell him that I hope before the day is out to hand him over to the British provost-marshal," he said. Hildenheim translated. The major gurgled out a rapid sentence. "You mistake," Hildenheim went on. "Major Schwartzkopf vish to know vat you do here." "That is my business. If the major has patience he will see." The Germans talked together, and Burton gathered from their smiles that they supposed him ignorant of the Bulgarian advance, and flattered themselves that the tables would soon be turned on him. When breakfast was finished, Marco asked Burton to accompany him to the chamber below. "Twenty years ago," he said, "when I was here, we kept a few prisoners in a cellar below the floor. Shall we not place our prisoners there now, for safety’s sake?"