"Serve him right!" Dickenson growled more than spoke. "There's another
chap creeping away yonder so as to enfilade us from the left."
"Well, you know what to do," said Lennox grimly.
Dickenson uttered a grunt, and, paying no further heed to the bullets
that kept on spattering about the rocks, every now and then striking up
a shower of loose stones, waited, patiently watching a spot that he had
marked down a couple of hundred yards away up the river to his left.
For he had seen one of the most pertinacious of their aggressors draw
back, apparently without reason.
"He couldn't have known that I meant to pick him out for my next shot,"
the young officer said to himself, "and he couldn't have been hurt, so
he's up to the same sort of game as that fellow old Lennox brought
down."
He turned his head sharply, not on account of a bullet coming too close,
but to learn the effect of another shot from his companion.
"Hit or miss?" he said gruffly.
"Hit," was the laconic reply.
Dickenson had only glanced round, and then fixed his eyes once more upon
the little clump of bushes he had before noted.
"That's the place he'll show at for certain," he muttered, and getting
the sight of his rifle well upon one particular spot where a big grey
stone reared itself up level with the tops of the bushes, he waited for
quite five minutes, which were well dotted with leaden points.
"Ha! I was right," said Dickenson to himself, for all at once he caught
a glimpse of the barrel of a rifle reared up and then lowered down over
the top of the stone in his direction.
The distance was great, and the rifle-barrel looked no larger than a
metal ramrod, but the clearness of the South African air showed it
plainly enough; and hugging himself closer together, the young officer
laid his cheek close to the stock of his piece, closed his left eye, and
glanced along the barrel, waiting for the opportunity he felt sure must
come.
The excitement of the moment made his heart beat fast, and his eyes
glittered as he gazed; but there was nothing to see now save a beautiful
green clump of thorn bush, with the great grey granite block in its
midst.
"I make it two hundred and fifty yards good," he said to himself, and he
raised the sight of his rifle. "I ought to be able to hit a steady mark
at that distance when cool, and I feel as cool now as a cucumber.
They're grand shots these chaps, and if he can make out my face he'll
bring me down as sure as a gun; and if he does there's new mourning to
be got at home, and a lot of crying, and the old lady and the girls
breaking their hearts about stupid old me, so I must have first shot if
I can get it. Very stupid of them at home. They don't know what a fool
every one thinks me out here. Nice, though, all the same, and I like
'em--well, love 'em, say--love 'em all too well to let them go breaking
their hearts about me; so here goes, Mr Boer. But he doesn't go. He
must be waiting up there, because I saw his gun. What a while he is!
Or is it I'm impatient and think the time long? Couldn't have been
mistaken. I'd speak to old Lennox, but if I do it's a chance if the
enemy don't show and get first shot."
Dickenson seemed to cease thinking for a few moments, and lay listening
to the rattle of the Boers' guns across the river and the spattering
echo-like sounds of the bullets striking around. Then he began to think
again, with his eyes fixed upon the top of the grey stone in the
distance, and noting now that a clearly-cut shadow from a long strand
was cast right across the top of the stone.
"That's just in front of where his face ought to be when he takes aim,"
thought the young officer.--"Aim at me, to put them at home in mourning
and make them go to church the next Sunday and hear our old vicar say a
kind word for our gallant young friend who died out in the Transvaal.
But he sha'n't if I can help it. Nasty, sneaking, cowardly beggar! I
never did him any harm, and I don't want to do him any harm; but as he
means to shoot me dead, why, common-sense seems to say, `Have first shot
at him, Bobby, old chap, if you can, for you're only twenty, and as the
days of man are seventy years all told, he's going to do you out of
fifty, which would be a dead robbery, of course; and in this case a dead
robbery means murder into the bargain.'"
Bob Dickenson's musings stopped short for a few moments while he looked
in vain for some sign of his enemy. Then he went on again in a
desultory way, paying no heed to the bullets flying over and around him,
and for the time being forgetting all about his comrade, who kept on
firing whenever he had an opportunity.
"What a pity it seems!" he mused. "Birds flitting about, bees and
butterflies sipping the honey out of the flowers, which are very
beautiful; so is this gully, with the sparkling water and ferns and
things all a-growing and a-blowing, as they say. Why, I should like
nothing better than loafing round here enjoying myself by looking about
and doing no harm to anything. I wouldn't even catch the fish if I
wasn't so hungry; and yet, here I am with a magazine-rifle trying to
shoot a Boer dead.
"Humph! yes," he continued after a short pause; "but only so that he
sha'n't shoot me dead. This is being a soldier, this is. Why was I
such a fool as to be one? The uniform and the band and the idea of
being brave and all that sort of thing, I suppose. Rather different out
here. No band; no uniform but this dirt-coloured khaki; no bed to sleep
on; no cover but the tent; roasting by day, freezing by night: hardly a
chance to wash one's self, and nothing to eat; and no one to look at you
but the Boers, and when they come to see what the soldiers of the Queen
are like they send word they are there with bullets, bless 'em! Well, I
suppose it's all right. We must have soldiers, and I wanted to be one,
and now I am one there does seem to be something more than the show in
doing one's duty bravely, as they call it.
"Well," he muttered at last, "this is getting monotonous, and I'm
growing tired of it. If they do shoot us both, they'll have had to pay
for it. Why, they must have used a couple of hundred cartridges. Not
very good work for such crack shots as they are said to be. If they
spend a hundred cartridges to shoot one buck, it would come cheaper to
buy their meat.
"All fancy," he muttered directly after; "that fellow couldn't have been
going where I thought, and yet it seemed so likely. There's the clump
of trees, and the very stone a fellow would make for to rest his rifle
on when he took aim from his snug hiding-place. But there's no one
there. The sun shines right upon it, so that I could see in a moment if
a Boer was there. His face would be just beyond that shadow cast so
clearly by what must be a dead bough. Yes, all a fancy of mine."
"Bob!" cried Lennox.
"Hullo!"
"I shall want some of your cartridges if help doesn't come soon."
Bob Dickenson made no further reply, but lay gazing with one eye along
the barrel of his rifle; for as his comrade spoke it suddenly occurred
to him that the top of the grey block of granite looked a little
different, but in what way he could not have explained. He noted, too,
that there was a tiny flash of light such as might have been thrown off
a bright crystal of feldspar, and without pause now he held his rifle
more firmly, laid the sight upon the flashing light, and the next moment
he would have pulled the trigger. But ere he could tighten his finger
upon the little curved piece of steel within the guard of his piece,
there was a flash, a puff of smoke, and a sensation as if a wasp had
whizzed by his ear. He did not move, only waited while one might have
counted ten, and then tightened his grasp.
"Bah!" he ejaculated as the little puff of smoke rose slowly, "how this
rifle kicks! Humph!" as the smoke cleared rapidly as soon as it rose
enough for the wind to catch it, "I was right after all."
"Hit?" asked Lennox.
"Yes; and just in time, for we should have been in an awkward place
directly."
"Yes; and I'm afraid we shall be all the same," said Lennox. "Try if
you can do any good at a couple of fellows across yonder. I can't touch
them from where I lie, and if I move I shall shoot no more."
Dickenson turned from where he was gazing hard at the top of the granite
block, the appearance of which was now completely changed; for the Boer
who, in accordance with what the young officer had anticipated, had sent
so dangerous a bullet whizzing by his ear, had suddenly sprung up,
fallen forward, and now lay there with outstretched hands still
clutching his rifle, which rested upon the ground in front.
"Mind me firing over you?" said the young officer.
"No; but give me a hint first."
"All right. I shall have to--Stop a moment," he growled softly as a
puff of smoke spurted up and another bullet came dangerously near.
"That's the worst fellow, isn't he?"
"One's as bad as the other. Lie close."
"Can't lie any closer, old man. Skin seems to be growing to the rock as
it is."
_Crack_!
There was another shot, the puff of smoke rising from close alongside
the former one which Dickenson had seen.
"I say," he cried, "which of us are they firing at?"
"Both, I expect," said Lennox. "They're sheltered by the same rock; one
fires from one side, the other from the second. I can't touch them.
Try at once."
"Don't you hurry me, or I shall muff it, old man," said Dickenson
coolly. "I want a better chance. There's nothing but a bit of
wideawake to fire at now.--Ha! Lie still. He's reaching out to fire at
me, I think."
Dickenson's rifle spurted, and their enemy's was like an echo; but the
muzzle of the Boer's piece was suddenly jerked upward, and the bullet
had an opportunity of proving how far a Mauser rifle would carry with a
high trajectory.
"Thanks, old fellow," said Lennox. "That has halved the risk. Perhaps
the other fellow will think it too dangerous to stay."
"Doesn't seem like it," said Dickenson, drawing in his breath sharply
and clapping his left hand to his ear.
"Don't say you're hit, Bob!" cried Lennox in an agonised tone.
"All right; I won't if you don't want me to."
"But are you?"
"I suppose so. There's a bit taken out of my left ear, and I can feel
something trickling down inside my collar."
"Oh Bob, old fellow!" cried Lennox.
"Lie still, man! What are you going to do?"
"Bind up the place."
"You won't if you stir."
There was pretty good proof of this, for another shot whizzed between
them. But he who sent it had been too venturesome in taking aim to
revenge his comrade's fall, and the result of Dickenson's return shot
was fatal, for he too sprang up into a kneeling posture, and they saw
him for a few moments trying to rise to his feet, but only to fall over
to the left, right in view of the two officers.
Drew uttered a sigh of relief.
"If we are to escape," he said, "we must stop any one from getting into
that position again."
"Look sharp, then," said Dickenson, whose keen eyes detected a movement
on the other side of the river. "There's a chap creeping among the
bushes on all fours."
"I see him," cried Drew; and as he followed the enemy's movements and
took aim, Dickenson, who was in the better position for commanding them,
followed his example.
"Missed!" cried Drew angrily as he fired and the Boer raised a hand and
waved it derisively.
"Hit!" exclaimed Dickenson the next instant. For he too had fired, and
with better aim, the Boer drawing himself together, springing up, and
turning to run, but only to stagger the next minute and fall heavily
among the bushes, which hid him from sight.
"Now for the next," continued Dickenson, coolly reloading. "Look out;
I'm going to watch the other end."
He turned sharply as a fresh shower of bullets came scattering around
them, and looked keenly at the granite rock and its burden,
half-expecting to see a fresh occupant taking aim. But apparently no
one seemed disposed to expose himself anew to the rifles of such deadly
shots, and the terrible peril to which the two fishermen had been
exposed ceased for the time being, though the pair waited in momentary
expectation of its recurrence.
But the enemy did not slacken their efforts to finish their task by
easier means, and the firing from the front went on more briskly than
ever, the young officers contenting themselves with holding theirs and
displaying no excitement now, their shelter, so long as they lay close,
being sufficient, the worst befalling them now being a sharp rap from a
scrap of stone struck from the rocks, or the fall of a half-flattened
bullet.
"That's right; don't fire until we are in an emergency," said Drew at
the end of a few minutes.
"In a what?" cried Dickenson.
"In regular peril."
"Why, what do you call this?" cried Dickenson, with a laugh. "I made my
will half-an-hour ago--in fancy, of course."
"Well, it is a hot corner," said Drew, joining in his companion's grim
mirth; "but we haven't got to the worst of it yet."
"What!" yelled Dickenson. "Oh Drew, old man, you are about the coolest
fish in the regiment. It can't be worse than it has been."
"Can't it? Wait a few minutes, and the party who made for the ford will
be at us."
"But they can't get their horses down the way we came."
"No; but they can leave them with a fourth of their fellows to hold
while they get somewhere within shot, and then we're done. What do you
say to tying a handkerchief to a rifle-barrel and holding it up? We've
held out well."
"Nothing! What do you say?"
"Same as you do; but I thought I'd give you the option if you did not
feel as obstinate as I do."
"Obstinate? I don't call it obstinate to hold out now. I've seen too
many of our poor lads carried to the rear. Here," continued the
speaker, after feeling, "I haven't used half my cartridges yet. Ask me
again when they're all gone, and then I'll tell you the idea I've got."
"What is it? Tell me now."
"Very well. We'll fire the last cartridge at the cowardly brutes--fifty
at least to two--and then give them a surprise."
"What! walk out and hold up your hands?"
"No; that would be a surprise, of course; but I've got a better."
"Let's have it."
"Walk in."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, crawl, then, into the river. Get quietly in from behind some of
the overhanging bushes, and float down with the stream."
"Wouldn't do, Bobby; they wouldn't trust us. They'd see us floating."
"They'd think we were dead."
"Not they. The Boers are too slim, as they call it, and would pump a
few bullets into us. Besides, I have no fancy for being dragged down by
a crocodile or grabbed by a hippo."
"Think there are any crocs?"
"Plenty in some of the rivers."
"But the hippos, wouldn't touch us, would they?"
"Very likely. They don't hesitate about seizing a canoe and crunching
it in two. No, your plan won't do, lad. I'd rather die ashore here."
"Dry?" said Dickenson quietly. "Well, I dare say it would be nicer.
But there, we're not quite cornered yet."
_Crack_ went a bullet overhead, and a report came from a fresh direction
almost simultaneously.
"Wrong!" said Drew coolly. "We are cornered now. That's the first shot
from the men who have crossed to our side."
"All right; I'm ready for them. Let's finish our cartridges."
"We will, Bob," said Drew quite calmly, in spite of their extremity.
"What do you want?" said Dickenson. "You haven't used all your
cartridges?"
"No; only about half."
"Then why did you hold out your hand?"
"Shake! In case," said Drew laconically.
"Sha'n't! I'm not going to look upon the business as having come to
that pitch yet. Look out; we ought to see some of them soon."
For shots were beginning to come about them to supplement those sent
from across the river, but so ill directed that it was evident that
their fresh assailants were guessing at their position below the
perpendicular cliff-like bank.
"This won't hurt us," said Dickenson coolly.
"No; but some of them will be having their heads over the edge up there
directly."
"They can't while their friends are firing from the other side as they
are. But when they do look down it will be rather awkward for the first
two."
"Here, quick, look out, Bob!" cried Lennox, for the firing from the
farther bank suddenly ceased, and the rustling and cracking of twigs
somewhere overhead told that the fresh danger was very near.
Dickenson's reply to his companion's order was to place himself quickly
with his back to the rocks that had sheltered him, sitting with his
rifle pointing upward.
Drew took the same position, and none too soon; for, following closely
upon the rustling sound, the makers of which were still invisible, a
couple of shots were fired down at them, the bullets striking the stones
just over their heads.
No reply was made, for the enemy were quite hidden, and with beating
hearts the two young Englishmen waited in horrible suspense for their
chance--one which never came; for directly after quite a volley was
fired, apparently from some distance back from the edge, and, to Drew's
horror, a big burly Boer seemed to leap down from the top of the cliff
to seize them for prisoners.
That was his first surmise. The next moment he knew the truth, for with
a heavy thud the man struck the stones, falling sidewise, and then
turned over upon his face, to lie with his limbs quivering slightly for
a few moments before he lay perfectly still.
"Hurrah!" shouted Dickenson, springing to his feet.
"Down! down!" roared Drew, snatching at his brother officer's arm.
But the need for caution was at an end, for volley after volley came
rolling down into the river-bed, and proof of help being at hand was
given by the rapid firing of the Boers on the other side of the river, a
duel on a large scale being kept up for some ten minutes before the
firing on the far side ceased.
"Whopped!" shouted Dickenson excitedly. "Look! look!" he cried,
pointing down the river and across at an open spot where some dozens of
the enemy were streaming away, galloping as hard as their little
Bechuana ponies could go, but not escaping scatheless, four saddles
being emptied by the fire from the cliff above the watchers' heads.
"I wonder whether the other men who crossed have escaped," said Drew
thoughtfully, as he took his whistle from his cross-belt and held it
ready to blow.
"Take it for granted they have, my son," said Dickenson. "They really
are clever at that sort of thing. I say, I'm glad I didn't go through
that performance."
"What performance?" said Drew wonderingly.
"Hand-shaking in that sentimental way."
"It wouldn't have done you any harm."
"Perhaps not; but, I say, don't stand fiddling about with that whistle.
Blow, man, blow, and let the lads know where we are. I don't want to be
shot now by our own men: too degrading, that."
Drew placed the whistle to his lips, and the shrill, penetrating,
chirruping call rang out, while Dickenson stood looking upward towards
the top of the bank.
Then Robin he put him his horn to his mouth
And a blast he did loudly blow,
While quick at the call his merry men all
Came tripping along in a row!
He half-hummed, half-sang the old lines in a pleasant baritone voice,
and then listened.
"Don't see many _merry men_ tripping--poor, hungry beggars! Blow again,
Drew, old man. Why don't they stop firing?"
Drew blew again, and, to the intense satisfaction of both, the whistle
was answered from among the trees above.
"Ahoy there! Where are you?"
"Here! here!" shouted the young officers together.
"Cease firing!" came now in a familiar voice, and the shots died out.
"It's Roby," said Drew eagerly.
"Never liked him so well before," said Dickenson, laughing. "Ahoy!
We're coming up."
"Oh, there you are!" came from above, and a good, manly, sun-tanned face
was thrust over the edge of the cliff. "All right?"
"Yes! Yes!" was the reply.
"That's better than I expected, lads," cried the officer. "Does one
good. I thought we were avenging your death. Well,"--the speaker's
face expanded into a broad grin--"it's getting on towards dinner-time.
What have you caught?"
"Tartars!" growled Drew shortly.
"Yes," said Dickenson; "a regular mess."