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.