Whatsoever this may have been, the sudden appearance of the two fresh
horsemen decided the course of some thirty or forty, who stood about for
a few moments staring wonderingly at the pair flying down the descent,
before mounting in some cases, in others seizing their rifles and
flinging themselves upon the ground to load rapidly and take aim.
"Mind how you go, Noll!" shouted Ingleborough. "A fall means being
taken prisoner now!"
He had hardly shouted the words before the bullets came buzzing about
their ears like bees after disturbers on a hot swarming day in old
England.
"Take care!" cried West excitedly. "It will be a long chase; so don't
press your nag too hard. Lie down on your horse's neck; the bullets are
coming more and more, and we shan't be safe for another mile."
"Bah! It's all nonsense about their marksmanship," cried Ingleborough,
who seemed to be suffering from a peculiar kind of elation in which
there was no feeling of fear. "Let them shoot! We're end on to them,
and have a clear course! They're trained to shoot springbok, I suppose,
when they get a chance; but they haven't had much experience of
galloping men. Fire away, you cowardly brutes!" he roared, as if he
fancied that the enemy could hear him. "I don't believe you could hit a
runaway railway truck or a cantering furniture-van, let alone a horse
with a man on its back."
"Ah!" cried West, at that moment, as he turned from looking back and
snatched off his broad-brimmed hat.
"Noll, boy, don't say you're hit!" cried Ingleborough passionately.
"No," said West, drawing his breath with a peculiar sound. "I've
escaped; but I thought I'd got it! I felt as if my hat was being
snatched off, and something touched my ear."
"Turn your head this way!" said Ingleborough huskily.
"Wait a moment!" replied West, who had passed his hat into his rein
hand, to afterwards clap his right to his head and draw it away.
"First blood to them!" he said, with a mocking laugh.
"Here, we must ease up and let me bandage it," said Ingleborough.
"No, thanks: that's a likely tale with the bullets flying like this!
Keep on, man; we've got a fair start! Let's get past those trees
forward yonder; they'll shelter us a bit!"
"But your wound, my lad?"
"They've only nicked the edge of my ear. It will stop bleeding of
itself. There's nothing to mind!"
Ingleborough watched him eagerly as he spoke, and seeing for himself
that there was only a feeble trickle of blood from the cut ear, he
pressed on in the required direction.
"Give me warning," he cried, "if you feel faint, and we'll pull up,
dismount, and cover ourselves with our horses while we try what practice
we can make if they come on."
"_If_ they come on!" said West bitterly. "Look for yourself; they're
already coming!"
Ingleborough turned his head sharply, to see that a line of galloping
men had just been launched from the Boer laager to the right and left,
and were streaming in single file down the slope, leaving ample room
between them for their dismounted companions to keep up a steady fire
upon the fugitives.
"That's their game, is it?" said Ingleborough, between his teeth. "Very
well, then, we must make a race of it and see what our picked ponies can
do."
"That's right!" cried West. "Let's open out a little!"
"Right, and give them less to aim at! The bullets are flying wildly
now. Ten yards apart will do."
They separated to about this distance, and at a word from West each
nipped his pony's flanks with his knees and rose a little in the
stirrups, with the result that the wiry little animals stretched out
greyhound fashion and flew over the veldt as if thoroughly enjoying the
gallop.
"Steady! steady!" shouted West, at the end of ten minutes. "We're
leaving the brutes well behind, and the bullets are getting scarce.
Don't let's worry the brave little nags! With a start like this we can
leave the Boers well behind."
Ingleborough nodded after a glance backward and followed his companion's
example, drawing rein so that their steeds settled down into a
hand-gallop, still leaving their pursuers farther behind. The ground
was now perfectly level, stretching for three or four miles without an
obstacle, and then the horizon line was broken by one of the many kopjes
of the country, one which lay right in their line of flight.
"What about that?" said West. "Shall we make for it and get into
shelter ready for using our rifles?"
"I don't like it!" replied Ingleborough. "There might be another party
there, and then it would be like galloping into another hornets' nest."
"I don't like it either," said West; "but we must think of our horses,
and by the time we get there half of this pursuing lot will have tailed
off, while I don't believe the rest will come on if we shoot pretty true
from behind some rock."
"That's right!" said Ingleborough. "We mustn't let them keep us on the
run, for the horses' sake."
"Look out!" said West, in warning tones.
"What is it?"
"They're pulling up and dismounting," replied West. "Here come the
bullets again."
For as he spoke the buzzing, whizzing notes of danger overhead, which
had for some minutes ceased, began to utter their warnings again, but in
a very irregular way, which brought forth the remark from Ingleborough
that their enemies' hands were unsteady from their sharp ride.
"The more need then for us to get into a sheltered place where we can
rest a few minutes before they can come up," said West. "Let's have
another sharp gallop and get well among the rocks: it will be riding out
of range and getting more in advance before they mount again."
"Right, general!" cried Ingleborough banteringly; and once more they
tore over the veldt, pursued only by the bullets, for the following
Boers had dismounted to a man.
"Keep a little wider," said West, laughing outright at his companion's
word "general."
"Don't let's give them a chance by riding so close together!"
"Right! Fine manoeuvre!" replied Ingleborough; and they went on towards
the kopje at full speed, both feeling a wild kind of exhilaration as the
wind rushed by their cheeks, and the plucky little horses stretched out
more and more as if enjoying the race as much as their riders.
Strange terms "exhilaration" and "enjoying," but none the less true.
For there was no feeling of dread, even though the bullets kept on
whizzing by them to right, to left, in front, far behind; now high
overhead, and more often striking up the dust and ricochetting into
space, to fall neither knew where. Every leaden messenger, it it
reached its mark, meant a wound; many would have resulted in death had
they struck the fugitives. But the excitement made the rush one wild
gratification, combined with a kind of certainty that they would escape
scot-free; and they laughed aloud, shouting words of encouragement to
their ponies and cries of defiance and derision at the unsuccessful
riflemen.
"Why, we could do better ourselves, Noll!" cried Ingleborough. "So
these are your puffed-up Boers whom writers have put in their books and
praised so effusively! My word, what a lot of gammon has been written
about rifle-shooting! I believe that Cooper's Deerslayer with his
old-fashioned rifle was a duffer after all, and the wonderful shots of
the trappers all bluff."
"Perhaps so!" shouted West, rather breathlessly; "but these fellows can
shoot!"
"Not a bit!"
"Well, my ear has stopped bleeding; but it smarts as if someone was
trying to saw into the edge."
"Never mind; it's only gristle!" said Ingleborough.
"I don't mind, but if the Boer who fired that bullet had only held his
rifle a hair's breadth more to the left the scrap of lead would have
gone into my skull."
"Of course; but then he did not hold his rifle a hair's breadth more to
the left. By jingo!"
"What's the matter?"
"Don't quite know yet. It feels quite numb and free from pain. I don't
think I'm hit. I half fancy the poor pony has it, for he gave a
tremendous start. All right; keep on! The bullet struck my rolled-up
blanket, and it has gone into the saddle. I can feel the little hole."
"What a narrow escape!" cried West anxiously. "Come, you must own that
they can shoot straight! If that bullet had gone a trifle higher it
would have gone through your loins."
"To be sure! and a little higher still, through between my shoulders; a
trifle more, through the back of my head; and again a trifle more, and
it would have gone above me. As it is, there's a hole in my saddle, and
I'm all right."
"Thank Heaven!" cried West.
"I did," said Ingleborough, "but in a quiet way! Yes, lad, they can
shoot; but it's a hard mark to hit--a galloping man end on. They'd be
better if we were going at right angles to the shot!"
"Now then, another five minutes, and we shall be beyond the range of
their rifles."
"And in another you had better give the word to slacken speed, for the
ground will be getting rough. Why not give it now? They've ceased
firing."
"Ease down then to a gentle canter," cried West, in reply, and their
panting steeds were checked so that for the last mile of their retreat
they progressed at an easy ambling pace which enabled the horses to
recover their wind, while the precipitous sides of the eminence in front
grew clearer to the eye and gave ample proof of being able to furnish
nooks which would afford them and their horses security, while enabling
the friends a good opportunity for returning the compliment to the Boers
as far as bullets were concerned.
West said something to this effect after taking his glass from where it
was slung and looking back, to see that the enemy was remounting and
continuing the pursuit.
"Not they!" replied Ingleborough. "They're too fond of whole skins to
run risks! They'll lie down in holes and corners to fire at us, but
they will not attack us if we are well in cover, and they find we can
hold our rifles straight."
"Then we must!" said West quietly. "Only we shall want a bit of rest
first, for my nerves are all of a quiver, and the blood feels as if it
was jumping in my veins."
"Come along then! We'll soon find a place where we can lie down behind
the stones! The sooner the better too, for I'm beginning to feel rather
murderous."
"Murderous!" cried West.
"Yes: don't you? I'm not going to be shot at for nothing! Look here,
Nolly, my lad, life's very sweet, and I value mine. I'm peaceably
disposed enough, but these brutes have invaded our country, and you've
had proof that they are trying their level best to make us food for the
crows. Under the circumstances don't you think it's time for the
lambs--meaning us--to turn upon the butchers--meaning the Boers--and let
_them_ feed the crows instead?"
"Don't talk in poetical metaphors, Ingle," said West, with a grim smile.
"If it comes to the point, we'll make our rifles speak in a way that
will keep the enemy from stopping to hear the end of what they have to
say."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Ingleborough; "who's talking metaphorically now?"
"I've done," said West. "Walk!" he cried loudly, and they drew rein, to
let the ponies pick their way up the commencement of a slope dotted with
small stones, while but a short distance farther on the front of the
castle-like kopje was gashed with little gorges and ravines, offering
plenty of places where horses and men might hide.
"Rather awkward if we were to find that there were some more of the
enemy here!" said West, as the nature of the ground forced him to follow
his companion, instead of their riding abreast.
He had hardly spoken when it was as if a trumpet had rung out a
challenge from one of the little gorges in front, and West answered by
shouting: "Right-about face!" and leading the way back. It was no
trumpet, but the loud neigh of a Boer horse, while shot after shot was
fired as they galloped away, fortunately being able to shelter
themselves from the fire by striking off to the right as soon as they
were clear of the stones, the higher ones proving their salvation, being
in the way of the enemy's aim.
"Out of the frying-pan into the fire!" cried Ingleborough; "and the
fire's going to be hotter than the pan."
"Yes," cried West. "Give them their head! Gallop right for the river
now."