"Oh, it's no secret from you!" replied West.

"Let's have it then!"

"Well, first of all, it was a lot of flattery."

"Flattery?"

"Yes, about being so brave, and bringing the Kimberley despatch through the Boer lines."

"That was not flattery. You did bring the despatch to its destination very bravely."

"So did you!" said West sharply.

"Oh, very well, so did I then! It was we if you like! Being buttered is not an unpleasant sensation when you can honestly believe that you deserve it; and, without being vain, I suppose we can feel that our consciences are at rest."

"Never mind that!" said West hurriedly. "I don't like being buttered, as you call it. The chief said then that he should have to send another despatch back to Kimberley, and that he should ask us to take it."

"What a cracker!" cried Ingleborough.

"Cracker—lie? I declare he did!"

"I don't believe you."

"Very well!" said West stiffly.

"No; it is not very well! Come now, he didn't say anything about us. He said you. Confess: the truth!"

West began to hesitate.

"He—well—perhaps not exactly in the words I said."

"That will do, sir!" cried Ingleborough. "You are convicted of cramming—of making up a fictitious account of the interview. He did not allude to me."

"But he meant to include you, of course!"

"No, he did not, Noll; he meant you."

"I say he meant both of us. If he did not, I shan't go!"

"What!"

"I shall not go a step out of the way without my comrade!"

"What!" cried Ingleborough, holding out his hand. "Well, come, I like that, lad, if you mean it."

"If I mean it, Ingle!" said West reproachfully.

"All right, old chap! You always were a trump! There, we'll take the despatch back! And now no more butter! We're very brave fellows, of course, and there's an end of it. I say, I wonder how Anson is getting on."

"The miserable renegade!" cried West. "I should like to see the scoundrel punished!"

"Well, have patience!" said Ingleborough, laughing. "It's a very laudable desire, which I live in hopes of seeing gratified. But don't you think we might as well go to sleep and make up for all we have gone through?"

"Yes, but who is to sleep with all this terrible bombarding going on?"

"I for one!" said Ingleborough. "I'm getting quite used to it! But I say, I can see a better way of making a fortune than keeping in the diamond business."

"What is it?" said West carelessly. He was listening to the roar of the enemy's guns and the crash of shells, for the Boers were keeping up their bombardment right into the night.

"I mean to go into the gunpowder trade, and—oh dear, how—"

West waited for the words that should have followed a long-drawn yawn, but none came, for the simple reason that Ingleborough was fast asleep.

Ten minutes later, in the face of his suggestions to the contrary, and in spite of the steady regular discharge of artillery, sending huge shells into the place, West was just as fast asleep, and dreaming of Anson sitting gibbering at him as he played the part of a monkey filling his cheeks with nuts till the pouches were bulged out as if he were suffering from a very bad attack of mumps. The odd part of it was that when he took out and tried to crack one of the nuts in his teeth he could not, from the simple fact that they were diamonds.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

BAD FOR ONE: GOOD FOR TWO.

"It's a bad job—a very bad job," said West, with a sigh, as he mounted one of the pair of very excellent ponies that had been provided for the despatch-riders by the gallant chief in command at Mafeking, with the laughing comment that the two brave little animals ought to consider themselves very lucky in being provided with two such masters, who would take them right away from the beleaguered town, where, if they stayed, their fate was bound to be that they would be minced into sausages or boiled down into soup.

They were two beautiful little beasts; but West always sighed and said it was a bad job whenever he mounted, for his heart was sore about the pony he had lost before they entered Mafeking.

"I say, young fellow," said Ingleborough, with one of his grim smiles: "how much longer are you going to stay in mourning?"

"Stay in mourning?" said West, staring, as he bent forward to pat his mount's back.

"Yes: for those two ponies we lost; because it seems to me very absurd! To begin with, it's downright folly to bemoan the loss of one pony when you have been provided with another equally good; secondly, it is more absurd to bemoan a pony at all; and thirdly, it is the most absurd thing of all to be mourning for one that in all probability is not dead."

"Oh, they're both dead enough by this time!" said West bitterly.

"Mine may be, for it was hit; but from the way it reared up and kicked out it had no bones broken, and these Basuto ponies are such hardy little beasts that I daresay it got better; while yours was so good that you may depend upon it some Boer has it nipped tightly between his legs, and is making the most of it."

"I hope you are right!" said West. "And there, I will not mourn for them, as you call it, any more, but make the best of things. Let's see; this is the sixth day out from Mafeking."

"Seventh," said Ingleborough correctively.

"Of course; so it is, but I lose count through being so intent upon the one idea of getting back to Kimberley. Do you think we shall manage to get through the Boer lines?"

"Think? Why, we've got to get through them. We shouldn't be long if we could only ride straight away, and not be always running right on to some fresh party who begin to make game of us directly."

"That's rather an ambiguous way of speaking, Ingle," said West, laughing, as he caressed his pony. "If anybody else heard you he would think you meant that the Boers bantered and chaffed us."

"But nobody else does hear us, and you think that I mean that they begin to pump out bullets at us just as if we were a pair of springboks. I say, I'm beginning to think that we are leading a charmed life, for it is wonderful what escapes we have had from their long-carrying rifles."

"I'm beginning to think in a much more matter-of-fact way," replied West; "and I think this, that five hundred yards' range is quite long enough for any rifle used on active service. I know that when one takes aim beyond that distance one is very doubtful of hitting."

"I feel so after half that distance," replied Ingleborough, and then: "Hullo! See something?"

"Yes; I thought we were going to have a good long ride in peace this morning, but look yonder!"

The two young men drew rein and leaped to the ground, each hurriedly getting out his glass, for the commandant at Mafeking had supplied them with fresh ones, to steady it by resting it upon the saddle he had just quitted, their well-trained ponies standing perfectly motionless.

"What do you make of it?" said Ingleborough, scanning a mistily-seen dark line right away beneath the sun.

"Wagons trekking," replied West quietly.

"Friends?"

"Who can say? I think not. Reinforcements and stores on the way to the besiegers, I should think."

"I'm afraid you are right! Well, we had better let the nags feed while we lie down and watch, for I don't think they have seen us yet."

"Very well," said West. "I'm tired of so much running away!"

The next minute they were lying amongst some stones and their ponies grazing, Ingleborough coolly filling his pipe and lighting it with a burning-glass, but keeping a watchful eye upon the long train of wagons and horsemen plodding along at the customary rate of about two miles an hour, and ready at any moment to spring upon his pony in case a party of the enemy should make up their minds to try and drive in the two ponies when they caught their eye.

This he knew was doubtful, for it was beginning to be a common sight upon the veldt—that of a wounded or worn-out horse or two picking up a scanty living from the grass and green points of the shrubs, while an investigation generally proved that the poor brutes were not worth the trouble of the ride.

Still, on the other hand, the suspicious nature of the Boers might prompt them to see whether riders were near the grazing animals, and an opportunity for capturing a prisoner or two be theirs.

The pair kept a keen look-out; but it seemed for a long time that they were to be left in peace, the long line of wagons and horsemen plodding steadily onward, completely blocking the way the bearers of the Kimberley despatch had to take.

At last, though, just after West had expressed his opinion that the Boers were too intent upon getting their heavy guns on towards Mafeking, Ingleborough, unnoticed by his companion, made a sudden movement, dropping his pipe and altering the small lenses of his field-glass, through which he lay gazing, supporting himself upon his elbows.

"Hah!" said West, who was similarly occupied; "they've got four heavy guns and a tremendous lot of stores. Wouldn't one of our generals give something to have his men so arranged that he could cut them off in all directions! The country is so open, and not a kopje in sight. What a prize those guns would be!"

"Yes," said Ingleborough sharply; "but there is no British force at hand, so they are going to surround us instead."

"What!" cried West excitedly.

"That they are, and no mistake!" continued Ingleborough, slewing himself round so as to look in a different direction.

"You don't mean—oh, Ingle! Three strong bodies coming from behind, north and south. Why, we're trapped!"

"We are, my lad; for here they come from the front."

West turned his glass again in the direction of the long line of wagons after his look round, to see that a party of the Boers were riding out straight for them.

"Trapped; but we must dodge between the wires, eh?" cried West, who, like his companion, had made at once for where his pony was grazing. "Hah! Look out, Ingle!"

Ingleborough was looking out, but left helpless. West had caught his pony, but his companion had startled the other by the suddenness of his approach, and, throwing up its head, the little animal cantered off with his rider after him.

"Stop, stop!" shouted West. "You only scare the brute more."

"Right!" said Ingleborough sadly, and he stopped short and began to return. "There!" he cried, as West sprang into his saddle; "you have the despatch. Off with you through that opening! I won't hinder you! I'll turn prisoner again for a change."

"Lay hold of my pony's tail and run! I'll keep him to a canter, and change with you as soon as you're tired!" said West, scanning the opening between the end of the Boer line and the party of horsemen away to his left who were making straight for them, lying towards the middle of the line, where the big guns were being dragged along.

"No good!" said Ingleborough. "Off with you, and save your despatch!"

"Can't leave you, old fellow! Do as I tell you!" cried West. "Hook on!"

"I will not! They won't kill me if I throw up my hands! Save your despatch if you can!"

"Obey orders, sir!" roared West fiercely, "and don't waste time! I'm going to trot after your mount, and he'll join us."

"Hah! Bravo, sharp brains!" cried Ingleborough excitedly, and twisting the long thick hair of the pony's tail about his left hand he ran lightly after his companion, the pony West rode uttering a shrill neigh as they went off, which made the other stop, cock up its ears, answer, and come galloping after them, so eager to join its fellow that it brushed close past Ingleborough, who caught the rein without trouble.

"Right!" he shouted, and the next minute he was in the saddle, with the ponies cantering along side by side.

"More to the left!" cried West. "The Boers are bearing away to cut us off!"

This was plain enough, and the fugitives saw that if a fresh party started from the end of the long line they were bound to be cut off.

"Never mind," cried Ingleborough; "we may get away! Those fellows are quite a mile from us, and their mounts will be pumped out if they push forward like that. Easy, easy! Let the ponies go their own pace!"

Settling down into a canter, the fugitives now began to look away to their left, where they had seen the other parties closing them in from their flank and rear.

"Hallo! Where's the rest of the enemy?" cried West.

"Yonder, out of sight! The ground lies lower there; but I say, these fellows are coming on at a tremendous rate! Gallop or they'll cut you off."

"Then we'll gallop!" cried West. "We, old fellow! Just as if I were going to leave you behind!"

"Very nice of you," said Ingleborough merrily; "but you're not fit for a despatch-rider. You're about the worst I ever knew of!"

"Because I won't forsake a friend?"

"Friend be hanged! There's no friendship in wartime. Ah, here come some of the flankers."

"Yes, I see them," said West; "but what does this mean?"

For all at once the galloping party on their right—that which had come straight from the centre of the Boer line—began to pull up until all were halted in the middle of the plain.

"They see their companions coming," said Ingleborough, "and that we are safely cut off. Well, it is giving us a better chance!"

"But they're turning and folding back," cried West excitedly. "Here come the others, full gallop! Look, look, how they're opening out! Gallop full speed now! No, no. Look, look! Why, Ingle, those are not rifles they're carrying—they're lances."

"You're dreaming!" growled Ingleborough. "Never mind what they're carrying; they're going to cut us off, and we've got to save that despatch!"

"And we shall save it too!" cried West, his voice sounding full of exultation. "Those are our Lancers—a regiment of them!"

"You're right!" cried Ingleborough excitedly now, and he began to draw rein. "Look at the Boer line. There's proof! They're turning back from the front and hurrying up their rear so as to form laager round their big guns. Hurrah!" he yelled, rising in his stirrups to wave his hat.

"And hurrah a hundred times more!" yelled West, following his companion's example, as he saw now in no less than four directions little clouds of horsemen moving over the widely-spreading plain.

The next minute they had their glasses out and were watching the Boers— a line no longer, but broken up into what at first seemed to be wild confusion, out of which order began to form, for whoever was in command of the reinforcements on their way to Mafeking possessed enough soldierly knowledge of what was the best thing to be done under the circumstances. As the wagons in front were wheeled round to retire upon the centre formed by the four heavy guns, and those from the rear were hurried up to join in making a great square, cloud after cloud of mounted men galloped forward to seize upon any patch of shelter to hold against the advancing British force.

"It's well meant," said Ingleborough, without taking his eyes from his glass; "but they will not have time to form a strong laager. Why, our men will be among them before a quarter of an hour is past."

"Before ten minutes!" cried West, in wild excitement. "Hurrah! Trapped this time! Look right across the laager; there are men coming on there!"

It was so, and Ingleborough cheered wildly again. For the British general must have had abundant information of the coming convoy, and had taken his precautions and made his plans so accurately as to timing the advance that he had completely surrounded the long line with cavalry and mounted infantry, who now raced for the laager, heedless of the fire opened upon them by the Boers. The enemy only fired a few shots, and then, finding themselves taken in front, flank, and rear, made for their horses and took flight in every direction, but not before the Lancers got among them and dotted the veldt with horse and man.

The Boer commander and those with gun and wagon worked well, bringing their heavy guns to bear on the main advance; but they were not directed at masses of men in column or line, but at a cloud of cavalry covering the plain and mingled with the enemy's own flying horse, so that before a second discharge could be belched forth from the two large guns which were re-loaded, the Lancers, Hussars, and Volunteer Light Horse were among the gunners, and it was every man for himself, sauve qui peut.

West and Ingleborough were so intent with their glasses, watching the utter rout of the Boers, that they did not see a body of Lancers bearing down upon them at a gallop, and the noise of the scattered firing kept up by the Boers drowned the trampling of hoofs, till there was a shout which made the two despatch-bearers start round in their saddles, to see a dozen sun-browned, dust-covered Lancers galloping at them with weapons levelled, headed by a young officer waving them on with his flashing sword.

"Up hands!" yelled Ingleborough, and glass and hat were thrust on high.

It was only just in time, the officer raising his sword as he reined up by West and caught his arm.

"Hallo!" he roared, as his men surrounded the pair with lances at their breasts; "who are you?"

"Despatch-riders—Mafeking to Kimberley," cried West.

"Where are your despatches then?" cried the officer sharply.

"Here!" cried West.

"Yah!" cried the young officer. "I thought I'd caught two Boer generals directing the fight. What a jolly sell!"

"You've got something better among you!" said Ingleborough, joining in the laugh which rose among the men.

"Have we? What?"

"There are four heavy guns yonder, and a tremendous wagon train."

At that moment trumpet after trumpet rang out, and the men burst into a wild cheer, for the mounted Boers were scattering in all directions, flying for their lives, and it was plain enough that a tremendous blow had been inflicted upon a very strong force, the capture of the convoy being complete, and those in charge who had not succeeded in reaching their horses readily throwing down their arms.

"We'll, we've whipped!" said the young officer of Lancers, taking off his helmet to wipe his streaming face. "They can't find fault with us at home for this, my lads! Here, open out; we must join in driving these ragged rascals back on the centre. Here, you two," he cried, turning to West and his companion, "I must take you both in to my chief, for I don't know that I ought to take your bare word."

"Well, I don't think there's much of the Dopper about either of us."

"No," said the officer, "but the Boers have got the scum of Europe and America with them, and you may be two little bits."

"Want our rifles?" said West coolly.

"No; but don't try to bolt, either of you: it would be dangerous. My boys are rather handy with the lance!"

"So I see!" said West, glancing at the points glistening at the tops of the bamboo shafts, several of which looked unpleasantly red.

"And so I felt," said Ingleborough grimly, "for one of them pressed my ribs."



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

DOWN BY THE SPRUIT.

The trumpets were ringing out again to call the various parts of the force together, a couple of regiments being sent in pursuit of the only body of the defeated Boers which showed any cohesion, the greater part of those who had reached their horses and escaped doing this to a great extent singly, and the rest of that day was passed in gathering in the wagons, disarming the prisoners, and making all secure in the laager, which was now formed about a spruit that offered an ample supply of good fresh water.

The capture proved to be far greater than was at first surmised, for in addition to the four heavy guns with their wagons and special ammunition, scores of the great lumbering Dutch wagons were full of rifles and cartridges. Besides these, there was an ample supply of ordinary stores, and, in addition to the many spans of oxen, hundreds of captured horses and several flocks of sheep.

By night all was made secure in the great camp, and the despatch-riders were made welcome at the mess presided over by the cavalry General, who with his staff eagerly listened to the adventurers' account of their journey, and to their report of the state of beleaguered Mafeking.

That night the pair slept in peace in the well-guarded camp after debating about their continuance of their journey the next morning.

But when morning came the General demurred to letting them go.

"You must wait a day longer," he said, "until my boys have done more, to clear the way, for your road must be full of revengeful Boers, the remains of the force we defeated yesterday, and I am certain that neither you nor your despatch would reach Kimberley if I let you go!"

"We are very anxious to be off, sir," said West, in a disappointed tone.

"And I am very anxious that the Kimberley people should have your good news, my lad," said the general, smiling, "and the news too of how we have taken the guns and stores meant to be used against Mafeking; but, as I have told you before, I don't want the news you are to carry to be found somewhere on the veldt, perhaps a year hence, along with some rags and two brave young fellows' bones."

"Thank you, sir," said West quietly; "but when do you think we might continue our journey?"

"That depends on the reports I get in from the men still away in pursuit."

The men in camp were in high glee, for they had been struggling hard for weeks to get to conclusions with the enemy, but without success, while now their highest expectations had been more than fulfilled; but there was plenty of sorrow to balance the joy, many poor fellows having met their end, while the number of injured in the hospital ambulances and tents made up a heavy list.

West and Ingleborough saw much of this, and spent no little time in trying to soften the pangs endured by the brave lads who lay patiently bearing their unhappy lot, suffering the agony of wounds, and many more the miseries of disease.

There was trouble too with the prisoners, and West and his companion were present when a desperate attempt to escape was made by a party worked upon by one of their leaders—a half-mad fanatical being whose preachings had led many to believe that the English conquerors were about to reduce the Boers to a complete state of slavery.

The attempt failed, and the leader was one of those who fell in the terrible encounter which ensued.

Both West and Ingleborough were witnesses of the resulting fight, for the attempt was made in broad daylight, just when such a venture was least expected, and, after those who seized upon a couple of score of the captured horses and tried to gallop off had been recaptured, the young men worked hard in helping to carry the wounded to the patch of wagons that formed the field hospital.

"Ugh!" said West, with a shudder, after he and Ingleborough had deposited a terribly-injured Boer before one of the regimental surgeons; "let's get down to the spruit and wash some of this horror away."

"Yes," said Ingleborough, after a glance at his own hands; "we couldn't look worse if we had been in the fight! Horrible!"

"It's one thing to be in the wild excitement of a battle, I suppose," said West; "but this business after seems to turn my blood cold."

Ingleborough made no reply, and the pair had enough to do afterwards in descending the well-wooded, almost perpendicular bank to where the little river ran bubbling and foaming along, clear and bright.

"Ha!" sighed West; "that's better! It was horrible, though, to see those poor wretches shot down."

"Um!" murmured Ingleborough dubiously. "Not very! They killed the sentries first with their own bayonets!"

"In a desperate struggle for freedom, though! But there, I'm not going to try and defend them!"

"No, don't, please!" said Ingleborough. "I can't get away from the fact that they began the war, that the Free State had no excuse whatever, and that the enemy have behaved in the most cruel and merciless way to the people of the towns they have besieged."

"All right! I suppose you are right; but I can't help feeling sorry for the beaten."

"Feel sorry for our own party then!" said Ingleborough, laughing. "Why, Noll, lad, we must not holloa till we are out of the wood. This last is a pretty bit of success; but so far we have been horribly beaten all round."

"Yes, yes; don't talk about it," said West sharply; "but look over there. We needn't have been at the trouble of scrambling down this almost perpendicular place, for there must be a much easier spot where that fellow is walking up."

"Never mind; we'll find that slope next time, for we shall have to come down again if we want a wash."

They sat down chatting together about the beautifully peaceful look of the stream, while Ingleborough lit his pipe and began to smoke.

"It does seem a pity," said Ingleborough thoughtfully, exhaling a cloud of smoke: "this gully looks as calm and peaceful as a stream on old Dartmoor at home. My word! I wish I had a rod, a line, and some flies! There must be fish here. I should like to throw in that pool and forget all about despatch-bearing and guns and rifles and men using lances. It would be a treat!"

"It looks deep and black too in there," said West. "Yes, a good day's fishing in such a peaceful—Ugh! Come away. Let's get back to the camp."

"Why? What's the matter?" cried Ingleborough, starting up, in the full expectation of seeing a party of the enemy making their way down the farther bank to get a shot at them.

But West was only pointing with averted head down at the deep black pool, and Ingleborough's face contracted as his eyes took in all that had excited West's horror and disgust.

For there, slowly sailing round and round just beneath the surface, were the white faces of some half-dozen Boers, wounded to the death or drowned in their efforts to escape the British cavalry, and washed down from higher up by the swift stream, to go on gliding round and round the pool till a sudden rising of the waters from some storm should give the stream sufficient power to sweep them out.



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THAT BASE COIN.

"Let's see; this will take us round by the hospital wagons," said Ingleborough. "I vote we go round the other way, for we don't want any more horrors now!"

They chose a different direction to return to their temporary quarters in the camp, one which took them round by the row upon row of captured wagons and the roughly-made enclosure into which the prisoners had now been herded, and where they were doubly guarded by a strong party of mounted infantry, who had stringent orders to fire at the slightest sign of trying to escape.

"They'll accept their lot now, I expect," said Ingleborough. "Who are these with this next lot of wagons? Non-combatants, I suppose!"

"Yes; drivers of the provision wagons and traders," replied West. "Why, that's the man we saw going up out of the spruit."

"Yes," said Ingleborough, and as he spoke West noted that the man who had been seated at the front of one of the wagons suddenly turned his back and walked round to the other side.

West turned to Ingleborough.

Ingleborough turned to West.

They stood looking enquiringly in each other's eyes for a few moments before the latter said suddenly:

"Which way will you go?"

"Left," said Ingleborough.

"And I'll go right."

They started at once, walking towards the wagon that had taken their attention, Ingleborough making for the front where the man had disappeared, and which necessitated passing the team of bullocks crouching down to ruminate over the fodder that had been cut for them, while West hurried round by the rear, the young men timing themselves so exactly that they met after seeing a pair of stout legs disappear between the fore and hind wheels of the wagon where the man they sought to face had dived under.

Quick as thought, West and Ingleborough separated and ran back lightly and quickly, this time to come upon the man they sought just as he was getting heavily upon his legs again, evidently in the belief that he had not been recognised.

He was thoroughly roused up to his position, though, by Ingleborough's heavy hand coming down upon his shoulder and hoisting him round to face the pair.

"Hallo, Anson!" cried Ingleborough banteringly; "this is a pleasant surprise!" while West's eyes flashed as he literally glared in the cowardly scoundrel's face, which underwent a curious change as he glanced from one to the other, his fat heavy features lending themselves to the dissimulation, as he growled out slowly: "Don't understand."

"What!" cried Ingleborough, in the same bantering tone; "don't you know this gentleman—Mr Oliver West?"

"Don't understand!" was the reply, and directly after: "Goodnight, Englishmen; I'm going to sleep!"

The next moment the heavy-looking fellow had turned his back again, stepped to the front part of the wagon, and sprawled over part of the wood-work as he tried to draw himself on to the chest before getting inside.

But Ingleborough was a strong man, and he proved it, for, stepping behind the man, he caught him by the collar of his jacket and the loose part of his knicker-bocker-like breeches, and dragged him off the wagon, to plant him down in front of West.

The result was that their prisoner began to rage out abusive words in Dutch, so loudly that in the exasperation he felt, Ingleborough raised his right foot and delivered four kicks with appalling vigour and rapidity—appalling to the receiver, who uttered a series of yells for help in sound honest English, struggling the while to escape, but with his progress barred by West, who closed up and seized him by the arm.

The outcry had its effect, for the called-for help arrived, in the shape of a sergeant and half-a-dozen men, who came up at the double with fixed bayonets.

"What's all this?" cried the sergeant sharply, as he surrounded the party.

"Only a miracle!" cried Ingleborough. "This so-called Boer, who could not speak a word of English, has found his tongue."

"What are you, prisoner—a Boer?" cried the sergeant.

"Ah, yah, yah," was the reply, gutturally given; "Piet Retif, Boer."

"Well, sir, orders are that the Boer prisoners are not to be ill-used," said the sergeant. Then, turning to the prisoner: "This your wagon and span?"

"Ah, yah, yah, Piet Retif."

"He says Yah, yah, sir," said the sergeant, "which means it is his wagon."

"Oh yes, it is his, I believe," said Ingleborough.

"Then what have you against him?"

"Only that he's a renegade Englishman, a man who deserted from Kimberley to the Boers."

"It's a lie, sergeant," cried the man excitedly.

"That's good English," cried Ingleborough. "I told you I had worked a miracle; now perhaps I can make him say a little more. He's an illicit-diamond merchant and cheat as well, and his name is not Piet Retif, but James Anson, late clerk to the Kimberley Company. What do you say, West?"

"The same as you," replied West.

"It is a lie!" cried the man. "Piet Retif, dealer in mealies and corn."

"Mealies and corn!" cried Ingleborough scornfully. "The man is what I say: an utter scoundrel, cheat, and, worse than all, a renegade and deserter to the Boers."

Anson's jaw dropped, and his face seemed to turn from a warm pink to green.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

ANOTHER START.

Before Anson's jaw had time to return to its place the sergeant and his men sprang up to attention, looking as stiff as if on parade.

West was the first to see the reason, and he nudged Ingleborough, just as a stern voice asked what was wrong.

"Bit of a row, sir, between the two despatch-riders and this prisoner, sir," replied the sergeant. "Prisoner charges these two gentlemen with assaulting him. Says he's a Boer!"

The new-comer, who had four officers in attendance upon him during what was apparently a tour of inspection of the camp, turned sharply on the two friends.

"I cannot have the prisoners ill-treated," he said. "Why is this?"

"Because he is not a Boer, sir," said Ingleborough sharply. "This man was in the company's office with us at Kimberley. He is little better than a thief, or worse, for he is a receiver of stolen goods, an Englishman, an illicit buyer of diamonds, and a renegade who gave information to and deserted to the Boers."

"That will do," said the General. "Half of your charges would condemn him. Sergeant, see that this prisoner is carefully guarded. He will be tried later on. I am too busy to attend to such matters now."

Anson gave vent to a gasp, after listening to the general's orders for his safe custody.

But, though he was listening to the orders given, his eyes were otherwise employed. They were half-closed, but fixed intently upon West, and they did not quit his face till the sergeant clapped him on the shoulder, saying: "Now, Mr Piet Retif, this way!"

Then he started violently, and was marched off to be placed with certain of the prisoners who were the most carefully guarded.

"Did you notice anything in particular just before Anson was led off?" said Ingleborough.

"No. Poor wretch. I'm sorry for him!"

"Keep your sorrow for a more worthy object, my lad, and mind and give that fellow a wide berth if ever he gets his liberty again."

"Which he will, of course."

"Well, perhaps so, for the Company can't give the diamond-buyer all they would like! But when he does get free, you be careful!"

"Why, what harm can he do me?"

"Can't say," said Ingleborough abruptly; "but something or another ill you may take it for granted he will do. I've been watching his face, and read what it means! Of course, he doesn't like me, for I've been fighting against him all along; but somehow he seems to hate you, and, mark my words, he'll try his best to do you a mischief! He gives you the credit of being the cause of all this trouble!"

"But I've not been!" said West.

"No; I've done the scoundrel ten times the mischief that you have, for I disliked him from the very first day we met. He was too oily for me, and I always thought that he would turn out a bad one. I'm the culprit, but he means to let me alone and to take all the change out of you! That's all—only don't give him a chance!"

"Not I; but we shall not see much more of him, I suppose."

"What? There'll be a trial in a day or two, and I've got a pill for my gentleman."

"What do you mean—not a lead pill?"

"Tchah! Nonsense. I mean to ask for the scoundrel's wagon to be searched. I was afraid they would let him go back to it."

"The wagon? Of course," said West thoughtfully. "I had forgotten that."

The young men's eyes met as if they were trying to read each other's thoughts; but no more was said then, and the next morning West and Ingleborough were summoned to the General's wagon.

"Good morning," said the officer sharply. "Your despatches are, of course, very important, and it is urgent that they should be delivered at once?"

"Yes, sir," said West eagerly. "Then we may go on at once?"

The General smiled.

"No," he replied; "all through the night scouts and natives have been coming in, and in general from different sources one has a great variety of news; but in this case, coming from parts widely asunder, I get the same announcement. Stung by the defeat I have given them and the loss of their convoy and big guns, they have been collecting in great force, evidently to try and surround me in turn and recover all they have lost."

"Then we had better make a dash for it at once, sir, before the way is completely closed," said West.

"The way is completely closed, young man," said the General gravely. "East, west, north, and south, there are strong commandos with guns, and there is only one way open for you."

"And that is?" said West excitedly, for the General had stopped.

"By going nearly due west, and cutting your way through."

"Cutting our way through!" said West blankly, and he turned to look at Ingleborough for an explanation, but the latter only shrugged his shoulders.

"Ah, you are both puzzled!" said the General, smiling. "You want to know how you are to cut your way through! I'll tell you: by keeping with me and letting my fellows clear the road for you!"

"But—" began West.

"There is no 'but' in the matter, sir," said the General. "You are both willing messengers; but you cannot do impossibilities. If you go on in your own way you will be either shot down or captured, and in either case your despatches will fall into the enemy's hands."

"Unless I destroyed them first!" said West bitterly.

"Of course. That is what you would try to do, my lad, if you had time. But as you would naturally defer that till the last extremity, the probabilities are that this necessary task would be left undone. Rifle-bullets fly very swiftly, and the Boers' traps are cleverly set, as our people are finding to their cost."

"But the despatches must be delivered, sir," said West excitedly, "and it is my duty to go on at any risk!"

"And mine to do two things, young gentleman," said the General, speaking very sternly. "One is, to assist you in the task you have in hand; the other, as I find that Kimberley is being hard pressed, to try and cut my way through to the help of the brave people who are holding it against great odds. Now, as the two objects work together, your way must be with us. I may not be able to force my way through, but I can certainly see you well on your way."

"Then we are to stop with your cavalry brigade, sir?" said West, in disappointed tones.

"Certainly, as long as I am making a forward movement, which will commence at once. If I find it necessary to diverge from the course laid down, on account of the extent of the convoy I have captured and the number of prisoners, I shall give you fair warning, so that you may make a dash for yourselves. There, gentlemen, I am busy. You will attach yourselves to my staff, and help keep a watch over the loot in diamonds."

Taking this to be a dismissal, the two young men retired to talk the matter over in their own quarters.

"I don't like it!" said West excitedly. "We have our orders as to what we are to do about the despatch! Ought we to let a cavalry general override those instructions?"

"I suppose so," replied Ingleborough. "Perhaps, after all, he is right."

"Right?"

"Well, he knows from good information the state of the country, and we do not. It would be better for your despatch never to be delivered than for it to fall into the enemy's hands."

"Of course!"

"Then why not take matters as you find them? Are we not going to take news for our General over yonder, and reinforcements as well?"

"Yes, I hope so," replied West; "but one does not like when one's plans are made to have them interfered with."

"Of course not," said Ingleborough, laughing; "but we started with fixed plans from Kimberley, and we've been interfered with and baffled ever since."

"But we did get the despatch to Mafeking!"

"Yes, even when it seemed quite hopeless; and we're going to get the answer back to Kimberley yet."

"I hope so," said West gloomily.

"Bah! What a grumbler you are, Noll! Nothing seems to satisfy you! Haven't we turned the tables completely upon that fat pink innocent?"

West nodded his head.

"Isn't he prisoner instead of us?"

"Yes, that's true!"

"And hasn't he proved your innocence and his own guilt before those officers?"

"Yes, he has done that!" said West, with his puckered face smoothing out.

"Then just confess that you are a growling, discontented, hard-to-satisfy young humbug."

"I do—frankly!" cried West, laughing outright.

"Come, that's something; and I begin to think that I will forgive you and stick to you after all, instead of following out my own ideas."

"Your own ideas?" said West, looking at his companion enquiringly. "What were those?"

"Well," said Ingleborough, in his dry stolid manner; "Shakespeare was a very able man."

"My dear Ingle," cried West, staring, "whatever has Shakespeare got to do with your plans?"

"Everything, you young ignoramus. Doesn't he say something about there being a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, will lead to fortune?"

"I believe so; but I wish he could point out the tide that would take our live barque safe into Kimberley."

"Ah, but you see he does not; his works were written for people living in a wet country where there are plenty of rivers and seas. He didn't know anything about the veldt, and, in fact, he was not very strong in his geography, or he wouldn't have written about the sea coast of Bohemia."

"There," cried West, "you're getting into one of your long-winded arguments, and I'm waiting to hear your plans!"

"Oh, they are only these!" said Ingleborough very gravely. "Being a poor man and seeing the tide at its height, I thought to myself that there could be no harm in annexing a rogue's plunder when it is as plain as the nose on one's face that we have as good a right to it as all the officers and Tommy Atkinses of this brigade. I came to the conclusion that I'd get you to stand in with me on fair halves principle, and go off with the diamonds in that barrel, calling at Kimberley as we go to leave that despatch, and then going on to the Cape, and then home."

"No, you did not, Ingle," said West quietly; "so don't talk bosh! Look, they're striking tents, inspanning, and getting off."

"By George! so they are. And hallo! what does this mean—an attack?"

"A battery of Horse Artillery guns," cried West. "Then we are going on in real earnest."

"Yes," said Ingleborough, "and so our friends the Boers will find."



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

THE NET AND THE FISH.

The start was made more quickly than either West or Ingleborough had anticipated; in fact, the celerity was wonderful considering that the cavalry brigade was burdened with the great convoy of wagons captured from the Boers.

But there was a keen soldier in command, and one who knew how to be ready for every emergency likely to occur in an enemy's country.

As the two despatch-riders mounted their ponies, the cavalry regiments were in motion, some taking up ground in advance and on the flanks, while two more, a Lancer and a Dragoon regiment, stood fast ready for action as rear-guard, giving the six-gun battery an opportunity to off-saddle and rest their horses, fresh from a twelve-mile march that morning.

The wagon lines were in perfect order, steadily moving off after two of the big newly-captured guns, freshly manned by picked crews, the other two being reserved for the centre of the train and taking up their position easily enough, drawn as they were by double teams of sturdy ponies which made them far more mobile than would have been the case if trusted to the slow-moving oxen.

"They won't attempt to use those guns if we are attacked," said West, as he watched the preparations going on; "our men will be quite ignorant of how to work them."

"Our men will try if the necessity comes," said Ingleborough confidently; "and that's half the battle!"

"Yes," said West; "but it's hardly likely that the enemy will attack so well-armed a body of men."

"They will, though, and do us no end of mischief if they get the chance."

But the General for the first three days gave the enemy no chance, for he carefully avoided kopjes and broken ground, keeping out a cloud of mounted men scouting in every direction, and camping each night on the banks of some spruit.

In fact, every military precaution was taken on defensive principles, for the captured convoy was too valuable for any risks to be run by attacking one or other of the commandos trying to hem in the brigade.

It was soon found that the Boers were in motion in front, rear, and on both flanks, awaiting an opportunity to swoop down and stampede sheep, cattle, and horses, spread confusion amongst the men, and so open up a chance to re-capture the guns and stores.

But no chances were given, for everything had been arranged, and during seven days' march West had a fine experience in the manoeuvring of a cavalry brigade. So, in fact, had the enemy, but theirs was at a bitter cost.

Finding that the British force would not attack any of the natural strongholds nor step into any of the traps contrived at river crossings where the perpendicular banks were filled with trench, pit, and shelter, but that the carefully-guarded convoy went on slowly towards safety day after day, the enemy became more daring, changed their tactics, and gathered together for attacks, getting their guns into action ready for their own captured artillery to be halted, and with a few well-directed shots at a tremendously long range to put the carefully planted guns out of action and compel a rapid retreat.

If they surrounded the convoy in their thousands with knots of mounted riflemen, there was a rush, a flying cloud of dust kicked up, and away went half the Horse Artillery battery to one knoll, the other half to another, and before the intention of the General could be grasped the shells were falling fast among those knots, bursting and untying them in an appalling way which littered the dry earth with dead horses and men; while, whenever a bolder dash than usual was made to capture either of the half-batteries, the Boers found that, mobile as they were, the British cavalry could nearly double them in swiftness of evolution, and Lancers and Hussars cut them up and sent them flying in every direction.

Day after day this went on, with the result that the reinforcements the enemy received were pretty well balanced by the constant dribbling away of ambulance wagons loaded with wounded men.

"Isn't it splendid?" Ingleborough kept on saying. "Why, we could go on journeying like this for months. I like this defensive game! Chess is nothing to it!"

"So do the Boers like a defensive game!"

"Yes," said Ingleborough, laughing. "Did you hear what one of the Boers taken said to the officer in command of the prisoners' guard?"

"No. I did not catch it; but I saw our men laughing. What was it?"

"He said our officers did not fight fair, and when our man asked him what he considered was fair fighting, the scoundrel gave him to understand that we ought to attack them when they were well entrenched in a kopje ready to shoot all our men down."

"Well," said West, "what did our officer say?"

"Laughed at him, and told him that if they were so very anxious to fire at targets we would arrange butts for them with a series of mantlets and a good supply of the Bisley Running Deer. But that wasn't the best of it," said Ingleborough, laughing; "what do you think the fellow said?"

"I don't know," said West, who was watching the evolutions of a couple of the Light Horse Volunteer regiments and as many of the Lancers, for, tired of the plodding life of keeping with the tremendous baggage train for a whole week, the two friends had ridden out in advance over a wide open series of rolling downs covered with dry scrubby growth, parched to greyness by the torrid sun.

Ingleborough laughed heartily for a few moments.

"There they go," he said, pointing to the leading troop of the Hussar regiment as it disappeared over a ridge about a mile in advance. "Let's make for that wave-like place."

"Very well," said West; "I suppose we shall be safe there!"

"Safe enough, of course, for our men have swept it clear! Forward! How the ponies enjoy a gallop! But I didn't tell you what the miserable ruffian said."

"No," cried West, enjoying the motion as much as the ponies. "This is delightful after all that slow walking; but we had better turn back when we have seen what those fellows are about! Now, what did the Boer say?"

"Said he had always heard we were cowards at Majuba; now he knew for himself."

"The insolent hound!" cried West. "What did our officer say?"

"That it was lucky for the Boer that he was a prisoner, for if he had been free he would have tasted a flogging from the flat of a sabre. But hullo! where are our men?" cried Ingleborough, as they reached the crown of the low ridge and looked down at a strip of open veldt, beyond which was another ridge.

"Gone over there!" said West quietly. "They must have galloped!"

"Shall we follow, and come back with them?" said Ingleborough.

"We may as well," was the reply; "they must be trying to cut off some of the Boers."

"Or going in for a charge to scatter them, for we want no more prisoners. Come on, then; I should like to see the charge!"

The ponies seemed to share their desire, for, answering a slight pressure on their flanks, they spread out and went down the slight slope like greyhounds, avoiding as if by instinct the holes and stones with which the veldt was dotted away in front.

"Steady, steady!" cried West. "We don't want to overdo it!"

"Of course not," shouted Ingleborough; "but my word, what delicious air, and what a place for a gallop! I should like to see a herd of antelope appear on that ridge to the left. I should be obliged to go after them; we might get one for the officers' mess."

"There they are, then!" cried West.

"Where?" said Ingleborough.

"Coming over that continuation of the ridge a mile away to the left. No: mounted men! Ingle, old chap," cried West excitedly, "they're the party our men have cut off! They've headed them, and they're trying to escape by this opening!"

"By jingo! No!" cried Ingleborough. "Our men have gone off to the right, I believe, and those Boers have seen us. Noll, old fellow, we've come a bit too far. Steady! Right turn! Now off and away, or somebody else will be cut off or shot; perhaps both of us, for we're in for it once more."

"Oh no," said West coolly; "be steady, and we'll show the Boers how English fellows ride!"

"Yes, but hang it all! It's showing the beggars how we ride away."

"Never mind; we must ride for the convoy."

"But we can't," cried Ingleborough savagely; "there's another party cutting us off."

"Forward then over the ridge in front! Our fellows must have gone over there."

"No, I don't think they did."

"Then we will," cried West excitedly; "that must be south and west. Forward for Kimberley; it can't be far now; and let's deliver the despatch."

"Hold hard! Look before you leap!" shouted Ingleborough; and, rising in his stirrups, he gave a hasty glance round, to see Boers here, Boers there, in parties of from six to a dozen, spreading out as they came along at a gallop, forming more and more of a circle, till there was an opening only in one direction—to the south-west—and after grasping this fully he turned to West as he settled himself in his saddle.

"Why, Noll, lad," he cried, "it's like the drawing of a seine-net in Cornwall, with us for the shoal of mackerel. They've got it nearly round us, and if we don't start, in another ten minutes we shall be enclosed. It looks fishy, and no mistake!"

"Then come on!" cried West.

"Off with you, but at a gentle gallop. We must nurse our nags, for the obstinate brutes will make it a long chase."

As he spoke he pressed his pony's sides, and away they went together at a long easy gallop, their mounts keeping so close together that the riders' legs nearly touched, and the brave little animals taking stride for stride and needing no guidance, the best management being to give them their heads and perfect freedom to avoid all the obstacles which came in their way in the shape of rock, bush, and the perilous holes burrowed in the soil by the South African representatives of our rabbits.

Once settled down in their saddles, with the opening in the Boer net straight before them, the fugitives had no difficulty in carrying on a conversation, and this ensued in the calmest matter-of-fact way concerning the predicament in which they had landed themselves.

"It's very awkward, Noll!" said Ingleborough.

"But, to use your favourite argument, it seems all for the best," replied West. "We can easily reach the open ground yonder before the enemy, and then ride right away."

"If," said Ingleborough.

"If they don't stop when they find us likely to go through the horns of the dilemma they have prepared for us."

"And lie down and begin shooting?"

"Exactly! Their bullets will go faster than our ponies!"

"Yes, but we shall put them at full speed, and they will find it hard to hit us at a gallop."

"I hope so!" said Ingleborough. "My word! How they are coming on!"

"Yes; but they will not get within five hundred yards of us!" cried West excitedly.

And so it proved, for as the horns of the partly-finished circle drew nearer, that nearness proved to be nearly a thousand yards from point to point, while half-way between, and with their ponies racing over the ground stretched out like greyhounds, the two despatch-riders dashed through, forcing the enemy to alter their course as they were left behind.

"That's done it!" cried West joyously. "Now then for Kimberley; it can't be very far away!"

"Sit close!" cried Ingleborough. "They'll fire now if they can do so without hitting their friends."

West glanced back to his right, and saw the truth of his companion's words, for the next minute the firing was commenced on both sides, the bullets coming over their heads with their peculiar buzzing sound, and the dusty soil being struck up here and there as the fugitives tore along.

"This will put their shooting to the test!" cried West, leaning forward to pat his pony's neck.

"Yes; it will puzzle the best of them!" replied Ingleborough. "I'm not afraid of their marksmen, but I am of the flukes. However, we're in for it! Easy now! We're getting more and more ahead as they close in. There, those behind are obliged to leave off firing for fear of hitting their friends."

Ingleborough was right, for after another useless shot or two the firing ceased, and it became a chase where success, barring accidents, would rest with the best and freshest horses.

Knowing this, the fugitives eased their ponies all they could after placing a greater distance between them and their pursuers, but keeping a good look-out ahead and to right and left, knowing full well as they did that the appearance of fresh Boers ahead would be fatal to their progress.

Half an hour glided by, during which first one and then the other glanced back, but always with the same result of seeing that some two or three dozen of the enemy were settled down to a steady pursuit.

"How long do you think they will keep this up?" said West at last.

"Well, if they are French mercenaries they'll give up directly; if they are Germans they'll stick to our heels for hours; but if they're all Free Staters or Transvaal Boers they'll go on till they drop or we do. The stubborn, obstinate mules never know when they are beaten!"

"Then they're not French adventurers!" said West.

"Nor yet Germans!" said Ingleborough. "No; we've got the genuine Boer after us; and it's going to be a long chase."

"How far do you think it is to Kimberley?"

"Just as far as it is from Kimberley to here!" replied Ingleborough gruffly.

"Thank you for nothing!" snapped out West. "What's the good of giving foolish answers?"

"What's the good of asking foolish questions? Look here, lad, we may as well look the position in the face."

"Of course."

"Very well, then; we've got a score and a half or so of Boers after us, meaning to take us prisoners or shoot us down."

"Oh yes, that's plain enough!"

"Very well! Then as to distance to Kimberley, the General has dodged in and out so to avoid the enemy that, though I know a little about the country, I'm regularly puzzled as to where we are. I think it lies out here, but whether Kimberley is five miles away or a hundred I don't know. What I do know is that the surest way of getting there is to make right away west for the railway. Once we can hit that—"

"Yes, I see, and if we keep it on our right, riding south, we shall get there."

"That's correct, my lad, but recollect this: we left the town invested, and you may depend upon it that the enemy are round it in greater strength than ever, so that how we are to get through their lines when we reach them I don't know."

"Neither do I!" said West. "But we did not know how we were to get into Mafeking! Still we did it, and we're going to do this somehow."

"Ah, somehow!"

"Look here," said West, after another glance back at their pursuers: "do you think you could put matters in a blacker light if you were to try?"

"To be frank, old fellow," said Ingleborough, laughing, "I really don't think I could!"

"No more do I!"

"But look here: it's as well always to look the blackest side full in the face. Then you know the worst at once, and can act accordingly. Hooray! One to us!" shouted Ingleborough, glancing back.

"What is it? I see one of the enemy broken down and another pulled up to help him. It's two to us."

"There, you see now the good of looking at the worst of it."

"It's quite cheering!" cried West.

"Not very, for the rest are making a spurt."

"Let them!" said West. "Our ponies are full of go. We will not push them unless absolutely obliged."

"Words of wisdom! A long, steady pace wins. Keep on; we can afford to lose a little ground, for we have been gaining for some time!"



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

CLOSE PURSUIT.

Hour after hour passed, and the chase continued over the wide rolling veldt, the fugitives making their course more and more westerly so as to hit the railway, hoping every time they reached the top of one of the wave-like ridges to find that they were close at hand.

But it was always the same—veldt, veldt, veldt, stretching on towards the horizon, with a village or farm once in a way, and the enemy always at the same distance behind, keeping doggedly on.

Twice over, though, the fugitives had scraps of encouragement from one of their pursuers pulling up, and in each case another drew rein and stopped with him.

At last a spruit was reached, with the fresh bubbling water tempting the escaping pair to alight in a way only to be understood by one who has been similarly situated.

It was just after the Boers had pulled up to let their horses walk after a long ascent, and they were still going on at the same pace, when West checked his pony.

"It's of no use; we must drink," he said. "Dismount, unsling your rifle, and get behind that stone and try and hold the enemy in check while I water the horses and fill the bottles."

Ingleborough said nothing, only obeyed, and the next minute West was leading the ponies down to the shallow crossing, leaving his companion with his rifle-barrel resting upon the big stone that formed a natural breastwork.

Seeing that the pair had stopped, the Boers began to press forward, even after Ingleborough had fired twice; but the next shot made them pull up short, open out, and take up position, beginning to return the fire then.

A few minutes later the horses had had a good drink, the bottles were re-filled, and all was ready on the far side of the spruit for continuing the flight.

West shouted to his companion, who placed a block of stone about the size of his head upon the natural breastwork and fired twice, dropping down directly after and wading to the side of the gully, where he threw himself upon his breast, drank deeply, and then waded across to rejoin his companion. Then they were off again at a canter, getting a good quarter of a mile on their road before the Boers discovered by a careful flanking approach that they had given up their defence of the spruit and dashed on.

"They'll be after us now at full speed!" said West, as he stood up in his stirrups gazing back.

"No," said Ingleborough; "they'll stop there, I daresay, for an hour to give their horses water and rest, thinking that they can lull us into the belief that they have given up the pursuit; and then they'll come on again, following us steadily so as to trap us as soon as it is dusk."

"I don't think you are right," said West; "but it is of no use to argue about it. We shall see!"

The day wore on and they saw nothing but the wide-spreading brown veldt, with no sign of the great river, no mountain ridge or other object familiar to Ingleborough during his travels through the country.

"No," he said, in reply to a question from West, "I can't make out anything, only that we are going south-west. The country is so big, you see. All I can say is that we must be going right. We're making for the river, and we can't do better. It may be many, many miles away still!"

"Well, let's keep on. There's one comfort: the enemy don't seem to be after us."

"No," said Ingleborough, after a good look back, and speaking very drily; "they don't seem to be, but I don't trust them. They mean to run us down; but we'll give them their work first."

In this spirit the fugitives rode steadily on hour after hour till the evening came, and then there was nothing for it but to look out for some halting-place with cover and feed for the ponies.

"We can't keep on without giving them a rest," said Ingleborough; "for we may have to ride all day to-morrow."

"What?" cried West. "You surely don't think we're so far off still?"

"I don't know anything, lad," replied Ingleborough; "for, as I said before, the country is so big, and it is quite possible that we may have two or three days' journey before us yet."

"But food—rest?" faltered West.

"My eyes are wandering everywhere in search of food," replied Ingleborough, "and I keep on hoping to come upon a farmhouse somewhere in sight. That will mean food, either given, bought, or taken by threatening with our rifles. As to the rest, we'll have that when we get into Kimberley."

Night fell without a sign of spruit, pool, or farm; but it was a bright, clear time, with the stars giving them sufficient light to keep on in the hope that was growing desperate that they must soon come upon some stream. But they hoped in vain, and the ponies at last began to grow sluggish and indisposed to proceed whenever some patch of bush was reached in the midst of the dried-up expanse.

"There, it's of no use," said Ingleborough; "we may as well let the poor brutes browse upon such green shoots as they can find! They'll be all the fresher for the halt. As for us, we must feed upon hope and the remembrance of the good things we have had in the past."

"Don't let's give up yet!" replied West. "It is cool travelling, and every mile brings us nearer to safety."

"Very well; but we shall find it hard work to get the ponies along."

So they rode on, with their mounts growing more and more sluggish for a while, and then West suddenly uttered an exclamation.

"What is it?" cried Ingleborough. "Your nag?"

"Yes; he has suddenly begun to step out briskly."

"So has mine," said Ingleborough. "It's all right. Give yours his head—they sniff water. I half fancy I can smell it myself; the air comes so cool and moist."

Just then one of the ponies snorted, and the pair broke into a canter which lasted for about a quarter of a mile, when they dropped into a walk, for the ground was encumbered with stones; but almost directly a pleasant refreshing odour of moist greenery saluted the riders' nostrils, and then the ground was soft and yielding beneath the ponies' hoofs, then rough and gravelly, and the next minute the riders were gazing down at the reflected stars, which became blurred as the ponies splashed into water and then lowered their muzzles to drink.

"A great pool?" said West.

"No; hark!"

West listened, to hear the rippling trickle of running water.

"A river!" he said excitedly.

"Yes, and it may be the Vaal. If not, it will be one of the streams running into it."

"And we must keep on this side and follow it down."

"Well, no," said Ingleborough, with a little laugh; "seeing that the Boers are after us, I think it will be safer to follow it down from the other side."

"Very well! What shall we do—get down and wade?"

"I would rather keep dry," replied Ingleborough. "Let's wait till the ponies have drunk sufficient, and then try if it is safe enough for them to walk across. I think it will be, for you can hear how shallow it is!"

"Yes," said West; "close in here; but what is it farther out?"

He stood up in his stirrups and followed the reflection of the stars for some distance.

"It's a big river, Ingle," he said, "and it would be madness to try and ford it in the dark."

"Very well; let's get a good drink as soon as the ponies have had their share, and then follow the river down till we come upon a place where they can graze and we can rest."

This plan was followed out, the ponies being hobbled at a spot where there seemed to be plenty of feed, while amongst the dense bushes and rugged stones which barred their way a snug resting-place was soon found, where, after cautiously making their way down to the river bank and allaying their thirst, the fugitives lay down to rest, listening to the sound of falling water not far away. Then, in perfect forgetfulness of Boers, despatches, and all the dangers of their way, both dropped into the deep sleep produced by exertion—a sleep which lasted till the sun was once more beginning to flood the earth with light.



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

ROUGH WORK.

It was the sound of a deep breath which put an end to West's slumber, and he opened his eyes to lie staring at two more, big, brown, soft, and peaceful-looking, not a foot away from his own.

It was some moments before full wakefulness came and he realised where he was, and that it was his pony, well-fed and rested, mutely asking him whether he was not going to mount and ride off again.

It was then that the thought of danger asserted itself, and he raised his head and looked sharply around, to see that they were amongst stones and bushes where; the bank went precipitously down to a beautiful winding river flowing amongst abundant verdure. Close by him lay Ingleborough, still fast asleep, and beyond him the other pony, still cropping away at the rich green growth which sprang up among the stones. Then, as far as he could see, West made out nothing but the beauty of the spot upon which they had stumbled in the darkness of the night. He rose to his knees stiffly enough, and was in the act of getting upon his feet, realising that the beautiful greenery formed a riband on either side of the river, beyond which was the open veldt, when he dropped down again to reach out and grasp Ingleborough's shoulder, for in his rapid glance he had caught sight of a party of mounted men out in the full sunshine about half-a-mile away. They were walking their horses, and it seemed for certain to be the whole or a portion of the enemy of the previous day, for he recalled, what had not struck him at the time, that one of the Boers was mounted upon a grey horse, and one of the others he could see from where he watched was similarly mounted.

"Plenty of grey horses about, of course!" he muttered; "but this seems to be the one I saw yesterday."

"What's the matter?" said Ingleborough.

"Hist! Keep quiet!" replied West. "The Boers are upon us! Look!"

Ingleborough rose cautiously, took a long earnest look through his glass, and put it back.

"Yes, there they are," he said coolly; "there's that chap again on the white pony. Good job we didn't try to ford the river in the darkness. Why, we should have been swept away."

West glanced for a moment in the direction of the stream, and grasped the truth of his companion's words, before scanning their position and taking it in at once.

"We can't get over yonder," he said quickly.

"No," replied Ingleborough. "That cuts two ways. Neither can they attack us from that quarter; so our rear is safe."

"We shall not be able to escape north," continued West.

"No; we are shut in there."

"Nor yet south, for they would pick us off easily before we could get through the rough ground to gallop away."

"Quite right, lad; and they are advancing on our front. Noll, my boy, there is only one thing to be done."

"What is that?"

"Turn that patch of rocks there into our fort, and hold out till they've shot us down, or we've shot them, or they've made us surrender."

"What about provisions?"

"Plenty of water," said Ingleborough coolly, nodding towards the river.

"We're nearly famished now."

"Yes, lad! I certainly feel as if I could peck a bit of something if I had the chance. But come, there's no time for talking. There's a ready-made fort for us, and the next thing is to get the ponies into cover. I say, I was right! I knew that the enemy would stick doggedly to our trail till they ran us down."

"Look here!" cried West: "I'm going to crawl to those rocks and try and cover you while you follow with the ponies."

"No need," replied Ingleborough; "the poor things have eaten till they can eat no more, and they'll follow us right enough. Let's try and get under cover before we are seen."

West hesitated for a moment, for the thought arose that the Boer party might ride away and try to find a ford, but a glance showed him that in the brief period which had passed since he awoke and saw them the enemy were much nearer, and, following his companion's example, he began to crawl on all-fours towards the clump of rocks pointed out, the horses quietly following them.

They had about fifty yards to go through a cover of bushes and lumps of rugged stone, but before they were half-way there West cried impatiently: "I don't like it; the Boers must see the horses directly. Let's mount and make a dash for it."

"Very well!" replied Ingleborough quietly. "Perhaps it would be best!"

"Then as soon as you are up we must ride towards them till we are clear of these bushes, and then off we go to the right."

"Good; but it must be sharp work, for of course they will see us the moment we are up!" answered Ingleborough.

"We must risk it, Ingle," said West. "We never could keep them at bay. Let's have action: it would be horrible to be lying behind a rock with the sun beating down upon us. Now then, get hold of your rein!"

There was a few moments' pause while the pair crept alongside of their ponies. Then West drew a deep breath and cried: "Mount!"

As he uttered the word he glanced over his pony's back at the advancing enemy, and saw that they had caught sight of the two animals, halted, and were in the act of taking aim at them. But neither West nor Ingleborough paused, raising a foot to the stirrup and being in the act of springing up, when the reports of about a dozen rifles rang out, and West's rein was jerked out of his hand as he was thrown upon his back, while his pony made a series of tremendous bounds, the last of which took it into the river with a plunge of about a dozen feet right into a deep pool. The water splashed on high, glittering in the sunshine, and the next minute the unfortunate beast was floating slowly away towards the swift current, just feebly pawing at the water, and on raising its head it fell again with a heavy splash.

"They can shoot well!" said Ingleborough coolly.

West turned his gaze from the dying pony, irritated beyond measure by his companion's easy-going coolness, and then saw the full extent of their trouble, for Ingleborough's pony had sunk upon its knees and then lain gently over upon its side, to die instantly without a struggle, one of the Boers' bullets having passed right through its brain.

"Might have been worse!" continued Ingleborough. "They did not hit us! Come along, lad! They can't see us now. Follow me, and let's creep to the fort. Keep down, lad; keep down."

West had involuntarily dropped on all-fours as Ingleborough spoke, and none too soon, for another dozen bullets came rattling over them, cutting the twigs and spattering amongst the rocks, while several passed close to them with a buzzing sound.

"There!" cried Ingleborough the next minute. "No question now about what we're going to do. Here's our fort; there's plenty of water; and the Boers have shot our provisions ready for us. We must cut some of the meat up for biltong, and eat as much as we can while the rest of it is fresh."

"For heaven's sake don't talk of eating!" cried West. "Look here: let's creep along through the cover and try and get away."

"On foot, followed by mounted men? No good; we should be pumped out in less than a couple of hours!"

"Then let's make the brutes pay dearly for what they've done!" cried West angrily. "Now Ingle, let's prove to them that we can use our rifles too! I'm going to shoot every horse I can."

"Very well: so am I; and if that does not beat them off I'm going to bring down man after man till the rest of them run for their lives. Got a good place?"

"Yes," said West, whose rifle-barrel rested in a crack between two stones.

"Then fire away; but don't waste a shot!"

"Trust me!" cried West grimly. "Now then, fire; and remember the despatch!"

He took careful aim as he spoke, and drew trigger, with the result that one of the Boer ponies stopped short, spun round, flung its rider, and galloped madly away.

The next moment Ingleborough's rifle cracked, and a second pony began to walk on three legs, while the party opened out, galloping so as to form a half-circle about their enemies, the two ends resting on the river bank and forming a radius of about three hundred yards.

"Sixteen more ponies to bring down," said Ingleborough; "and those two dismounted men will take cover and begin to stalk us."

"That's what the whole party will do!" said West bitterly. "We shall hit no more ponies: they'll get them all into cover, and then come creeping nearer and nearer."

At that moment Ingleborough fired again right in front where one of the Boers dismounted among some trees.

"There's one more though," said Ingleborough, for the poor brute he had fired at reared up and then fell, to lie kicking on its flank. "Try for another yourself, lad!"

Before he had finished speaking West had fired again, and another pony was hit, to come tearing towards them, dragging its dismounted rider after it, for the man clung to the reins till he was jerked off his feet and drawn along the ground some fifty yards, when his head came in contact with a stone, and he lay insensible, his pony galloping for another hundred yards and then falling, paralysed in its hindquarters.

And now the Boers' bullets began to rattle about the stones which protected the hidden pair, keeping them lying close and only able to fire now and then; but they got chances which they did not miss of bringing down, killing, or disabling five more of the enemy's ponies, which upon being left alone began to graze, and naturally exposed themselves.

Maddened by their losses and inability to see their foes, the Boers kept reducing the distance, creeping from stone to bush and from bush to stone, rendering the defenders' position minute by minute one of greater peril.

But the danger did not trouble West. It only increased the excitement from which he suffered, and, with his eyes flashing in his eagerness, he kept on showing the Boers where he lay by firing at every opportunity, religiously keeping his aim for the ponies, in the full belief that before long the Boers would retire.

"It's no good to play that game!" cried Ingleborough suddenly, and he made a quick movement, turning a little to his right and firing.

There was a hoarse yell, and a man sprang up not above a hundred yards away, dropped his rifle, and turning round he began to stagger away.

"You are firing at the Boers, Ingle," cried West excitedly.

"Yes: it was time!" growled Ingleborough, through his teeth, with his voice sounding hoarse and strange. "I've hit three. Two haven't moved."

"What's the matter?" asked West, in a tone of anxiety, for he felt that something serious had happened to his comrade.

"Don't talk," growled Ingleborough angrily. "Look! Those two. Fire!"

Two of the Boers away to West's left front had suddenly sprung up, and bending low were running towards him, evidently making for a patch of bush, out of which a mass of grey stone peered, not a hundred yards from the young men's shelter. Feeling now that it was life for life, West glanced along the barrel of his rifle, waiting till the Boers had nearly reached their goal, and then, just as the second dashed close behind his leader, West drew trigger, shivering the next moment, for as the smoke rose he saw one of the men lying upon his face and the other crawling back on all-fours.

"Good shot!" said Ingleborough hoarsely, and then he uttered a deep groan.

"Ingle, old fellow, what is it?" cried West.

The only answer he obtained was from his comrade's piece, for the latter fired again, and another Boer sprang into sight not a hundred yards away, fell upon his knees, and then rolled over.

"Ingle, old fellow," cried West; "don't say you're hurt!"

"Oh!" groaned Ingleborough. "Wasn't going to, old man; but that last brute got me."

"Hurt much?"

"Much? It's like red-hot iron through me. Oh, if I only had some water!"

"Water?" cried West, springing up. "Yes; I'll get some."

Crack, crack, crack! Half-a-dozen rifles rang out in different directions, and in an instant West suffered for his thoughtless unselfish act, for he felt as if someone had struck him a cruel blow with a sjambok across the face from the front, while someone else had driven the butt of his rifle with all his force full upon his shoulder-blade—this blow from the back driving him forward upon his knees and then causing him to fall across Ingleborough. Then for a few moments everything seemed as a blank.

"Hurt much?" came the next minute, as if from a distance.

"Hurt? No!" said West huskily, and he made an effort and rose to his knees. Then, stung to rage by an agonising pain which stiffened him into action, he levelled his rifle once more, took a quick aim at a couple of the Boers who were running towards them in a stooping position, fired, and distinctly saw one of the two drop to the ground.

The next moment someone fired over his shoulder, and the other went down, just as West's rifle dropped from his hand and he fell over sideways, yielding to a horribly sickening sensation, followed by a half-dreamy fancy that someone had felt for and got hold of his hand, to grip it in a way that was at first terribly painful—a pang seeming to run up from hand to shoulder. The pain appeared to grow worse and worse, then deadened, and came again, and so on, like spasms of agony, while all the time the firing went on from all around.

"Poor old Ingle!" was about his last clear thought; "they've killed him, and now they're firing till they've quite frightened me! Oh, how they keep on shooting! Get it over, you cowardly brutes—nearly a score of you against two! Oh!" he groaned then: "if I could only have delivered my despatch!"

His left hand was raised painfully to his breast to feel whether the paper was still safe; but the pain of the effort was sickening, and his hand glided over something wet and warm and sticky.

"Poor old Ingle! Blood!" flashed through his brain, as the rifle reports rang out from very close now, and then all was blank.

The end of everything seemed to have come.



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

THE SURGEON'S WORDS.

"Bad enough, poor fellow; but I think I can pull them both round. Nothing vital, you see, touched, and these Mauser bullets make wonderfully clean wounds!"

"And the other?"

"Bad flesh-wounds—great loss of blood. I just got at that artery in time."

West heard these words spoken by someone whose head kept getting in his way as he lay staring up at the great bright stars directly overhead, and it seemed very tiresome.

He tried to speak and ask whoever it was to move aside; but his tongue would not stir, and he lay perfectly still, trying to think what it all meant, and in a dull far-off sort of way it gradually dawned upon him that the people near him were talking about the Boers he had somehow or another and for some reason shot down.

Then, as he thought, the calm feeling he was enjoying grew troubled, and he began to recall the fact that he had been shooting somebody's ponies to supply somebody else with food, and that he must have been mad, for he felt convinced that they would not be nice eating, as he had heard that the fat was oily and the flesh tasted sweet. Besides which, it would be horrible to have to eat horseflesh at a time when his throat was dry with an agonising thirst. Then the terrible thought forced itself upon him that while shooting down ponies he had missed them and killed men instead, and once more all was blank.

The next time the power of thinking came to the poor fellow all was very dark, and a jarring pain kept running through him, caused by the motion of his hard bed, which had somehow grown wheels and was being dragged along.

Cattle were lowing and sheep bleating. There were shouts, too, such as he knew were uttered by Kaffir drivers, and there were the crackings of their great whips.

After a while he made out the trampling of horses and heard men talking, while in an eager confused way he listened for what they would say about those two wounded Boers, one of whom had nearly bled to death before that artery was stopped. These, he felt, must be the Boers he shot when he ought to have shot ponies.

And as he got to that point the trouble of thinking worried his brain so that he could think no more, and again all was blank.

At last came a morning when West woke up in a great room which seemed to be familiar. There were nurses moving about in their clean white-bordered dresses, and he knew that he was in some place fitted up as a hospital. Several of the occupants of the beds wore bandages suggestive of bad wounds, and to help his thoughts there came from time to time the dull heavy reports of cannon.

He did not recollect all that had preceded his coming yet; but he grasped the fact that he had been wounded and was now in hospital.

He lay for a few minutes with his brain growing clearer and clearer, and at last, seeing one of the nurses looking in his direction, he tried to raise one hand, but could not. The other proved more manageable, and in obedience to a sign the nurse came, laid a hand upon his forehead, and smiled down in his face.

"Your head's cooler!" she said. "You're better?"

"Yes," he replied: "have I been very bad?"

"Terribly! We thought once that you would not recover."

"And Ingleborough?"

"Ingleborough? Oh, you mean your companion who was brought in with you?"

West nodded: he could not speak.

"Well, I think he will get better now!"

"But his wound: is it so bad?"

"He nearly bled to death; but you must not talk much yet."

"Only a little!" said West eagerly. "Pray tell me, he will get better?"

"Oh yes: there's no doubt about it, I believe."

"Oh, thank goodness!" cried West fervently. "But what place is this?"

"This? Why, Kimberley, of course!"

"Ah!" cried West excitedly, and his hand went to his breast. "My jacket!"

"Your jacket?" said the nurse. "Oh, that was all cut and torn, and soaked with blood. I think it has been burnt."

"What!" cried West. "Oh, don't say that!"

"Hush, hush! What is this?" said a deep, stern voice. "Patient delirious, nurse?"

A quiet, grave-looking face was bent over West's pillow, and the poor fellow jumped at the idea that this must be the surgeon.

"No, sir; no, sir!" he whispered excitedly, catching at the new-comer's arm. "I am better: it is only that I am in trouble about my clothes."

"Clothes, eh?" said the doctor, smiling. "Oh, you will not want clothes for two or three weeks yet."

"Not to dress, sir," whispered West excitedly; "but I must have my jacket. It is important!"

"Why?" said the surgeon, laying his hand upon the young man's brow soothingly.

"I was bringing on a despatch from Mafeking when I was shot down, sir," whispered West excitedly.

"It was sewn up for safety in the breast."

"Indeed?" said the doctor, laying his fingers on the lad's pulse and looking keenly in his eyes.

"Yes, sir, indeed!" said West eagerly. "I know what I am saying, sir."

"Yes, you are cool now; but I'm afraid the jacket will have been burned with other garments of the kind. Of course, the contents of the pockets will have been preserved."

"Oh, they are nothing, sir," cried West piteously. "It is a letter sewn up in the breast that I want. It is so important!"

"Well, I'll see!" said the doctor gravely, and, signing to the nurse who had been in attendance, he left the ward, with West in a state of feverish anxiety.

At last, to West's intense satisfaction, the horribly blood-stained garment was brought in, and his hand went out trembling to catch it by the breast, fully expecting to find the missive gone.

"Yes," he cried wildly, "it is here!"

"Hah!" cried the doctor, and, taking out his knife, he prepared to slit it up, but West checked him.