"Don't begin to prophesy evil! I say we're going to leave the Boers far behind and escape."

"I can't look at our chance in the same flowery light as you do, my boy," replied Ingleborough. "My breakfast wasn't good enough to inspire me with so much hope, and I should advise you to open your haversack."

"Nonsense! I could not eat now!"

"But you must be ready to if you don't begin, my lad. My advice is that you get ready to eat those sandwiches, for you mustn't let the good verbal meat inside get into the enemy's hands."

Ingleborough had hardly spoken before his horse suddenly checked, throwing him forward upon its neck and nearly sending him off. But he clung to it desperately, while the poor beast's next act was to rear up, pawing hard at the air. In spite of the difficulty, Ingleborough shuffled himself back into the saddle, speaking encouraging words to the shivering animal, which kept on pawing at the air for a few moments and just gave its rider time to throw himself off sidewise before it went right over backwards, struck out with all four legs in the air, and then subsided--motionless.

West drew rein instantly as he tore by, and cantered back, reckless of the whistling bullets which were flying around.

"Beg their pardon!" cried Ingleborough, struggling to his feet after a heavy fall. "I retract my words."

"Hurt?" cried West excitedly.

"Rather! Ground is pretty hard!"

"Here," cried West, leaping off; "jump into my saddle, and I'll hold on by the mane and run."

"Nonsense! Absurd! Don't be a fool!" cried Ingleborough angrily. "The game's up for me! Jump up and gallop again! Don't let the brutes take you too."

"Likely!" said West, taking out his handkerchief and beginning to fold it bandage fashion. "Your head's bleeding. Let me tie this round."

"Let it bleed!" cried Ingleborough angrily, and picking up his soft felt hat, which had fallen in the dust, he stuck it on tightly. "That's bandaged!" he said. "Now then, be off before it's too late."

"Of course; that's just what you would have done!" said West quietly.

"Never mind what I would have done," cried Ingleborough angrily. "Ride for your life!"

"Do you take me for a Dutchman?" said West coolly.

"Oh, you fool--you fool!" cried Ingleborough, stamping his foot angrily.

"You'll be too late! No, they're dismounting. Now then, up with you and make a dash."

West gave a glance to right and left, to see that some twenty of the enemy had leaped from their horses and were advancing, while twice as many more, who covered them with their rifles, came slowly on, shouting to him the Dutch for "Hands up!"

The position was perilous, though the chances were even still about being taken or riding clear if he went at full gallop; but West did not stir.

"No, thankye, old fellow," he said. "It would be such dull work riding alone. What do you say to taking cover amongst the bushes?"

"Bah! Cover for the front, and none for flank or rear!"

"We could squat down back to back," said West coolly, "and shoot a few of them first. I want to fight the brutes with their own weapons."

"Once more, will you make a bolt of it?" cried Ingleborough faintly.

"No--I--will--not!" said West slowly and distinctly, and then, making a dash, he caught his comrade round the waist, letting him sink gently down upon the sand and stones, for his legs had given way and his face turned ghastly.

"Thanks, old man," said Ingleborough, with a feeble smile and his eyes looking his grat.i.tude.

He lay still now, with his countenance seeming to grow fixed and hard; but West opened his water-flask and poured a few drops between the poor fellow's lips, when he began to revive at once, and lay perfectly still while his comrade removed his hat and proceeded to bind the ready-folded handkerchief tightly about the bleeding wound, caused by sharp contact with a stone when he fell.

"West," groaned Ingleborough, recovering now a little, "once more, lad, think, think; never mind me! Mount; never mind the firing; ride for your life!"

"Once more, old fellow," said West, through his teeth, "I won't leave you in the lurch!"

"But the despatches, lad. I am only one, and they are to save a thousand."

"Ah!" cried West, springing to his feet as if the object of his journey had been driven out of his head by the excitement of the moment, and he took a step towards his horse, just as, to his intense surprise, Ingleborough's mount suddenly threw up its muzzle, made a plunge, and found its feet, shook itself violently, and whinnied, as if it had just recovered from being stunned.

"Here, make one effort," cried West, seizing the steed's bridle and leading it to where its rider lay.

"Look--your pony's all right again! Can you mount?"

"No," said Ingleborough faintly, as he made an effort to struggle to his knees, but only fell back with a groan. "Can't! Feel as if my neck's broken and my shoulder numbed. Now will you make a dash while you can?"

West hesitated, and duty mastered friendship and humane feeling for his companion. He was but one, and the despatch might deal with the lives of a thousand men in peril of their lives.

"Yes, I must go!" he groaned, making for his horse; but he was too late.

For though the Boers, apparently from a feeling that they were quite sure of their prey, had advanced slowly and cautiously, each man with his rifle presented and finger on trigger, their movements showed plenty of cunning. They had opened out so as to get round the horses, watching the young man's actions all the time, and when he at last made for his mount they were close up, and rifle-barrels bristled around, every muzzle threatening and grim.

"Throw up your hands!" came in chorus from a score of throats, and directly after the same order was given in fair English by two of the ragged, unkempt, big-bearded enemy.

West looked fiercely round like a hunted animal brought to bay by the hounds, waiting to seize the first one that sprang, and ground his teeth with rage; but he paid no heed to the men's words.

"Throw up your hands!" roared one of the men.

"Throw up your own!" said West defiantly, and then to his bitter annoyance he started on one side, for there was a flash, simultaneously a whizz close to his face, and instantly the sharp report of a rifle.

Recovering from the sudden shock to his nerves caused by his previous unbelief that the enemy would be so cowardly as to fire upon a perfectly helpless prisoner, West swung himself round to face the man who had fired at him from such close quarters that the flash of the powder had scorched his cheek.

The Boer was busily thrusting a fresh cartridge into the breech of his piece, and as he met the young man's eyes he burst out into a coa.r.s.e and brutal laugh.

"Throw up your hands, then, you cursed rooinek!" he cried, "or I'll blow out your brains!"

"Not if I die for it!" cried West. "You cowardly cur!" And turning as the Boers closed him in, he continued, with bitter contempt, and speaking in their own tongue: "I suppose you are a specimen of the brave peasant farmers making a struggle for their liberty!"

"You keep a civil tongue in your head, young man," growled out one of the party in English, "unless you want to feed the crows!"

"You keep your cowardly gang in order first before you dictate to me!"

cried West, turning upon the speaker sharply. "Do you call it manly to fire at close quarters upon a party of two?"

"No!" said the man shortly, as he turned round and said a few angry words in the Boer jargon--words which were received by some with angry growls, while the major portion remained silent and sullen.

"You're not our cornet! Mind your own business, before you're hurt!"

cried the man who had fired, taking a few steps towards the spot where West stood, and, seizing him savagely by the throat, he tried to force him to his knees.