"Yes, sir: here it is!"

"Where?" said the Commandant, glancing down at the stained tunic on the bed.

"Open it now, sir," said West to the doctor, who took out his knife again, slit the cloth, and drew out the big letter, terribly soaked with its bearer's blood.

"Bravo! Brave messenger!" cried the Commandant, grasping West's hand before tearing open the packet and finding enough of the despatch unstained to allow him to decipher the princ.i.p.al part of the text.

"Hah!" he cried, when he had finished, "on the whole good news; but," he continued, glancing at the date, "you have been a long time coming."

"Have I, sir? We lost no time!"

"The poor fellow has been lying here for a fortnight, sir," said the surgeon.

"A fortnight ago? Why, that was the day when the reconnoitring party returned with the captured sheep and cattle. Yes, I remember now: they had a brush with the Boers up the river. Of course, yes: they were attracted by the firing, and saved two young Englishmen. You are one of them?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well done, then! Our raiding party did good work, though they did have a desperate fight afterwards to get through the Boer lines. Getting better?"

"Yes, sir," said West, with a sigh of relief: "now that I have got my despatch safely into your hands!"

"But what about your bad character?"

"It was a false accusation, sir!" cried West indignantly. "The man who denounced me was the criminal himself."

"Well, you have done your duty so truly that I believe you in preference to him."

"But I shall be able to fully clear myself, sir, soon, for this man is a prisoner now with the cavalry brigade. Has that come into the town yet, sir, with the prisoners, guns, and the convoy they captured?"

"Hah!" cried the Commandant: "this is news indeed! Has the brigade captured all you say?"

"Yes, sir," said West, and he told all that had taken place up to the time of he and Ingleborough being cut off and chased by the Boers.

"We knew nothing of this!" said the Commandant. "We are prisoners ourselves; but your news gives us hope of a speedy release, for the General is not one to let the gra.s.s grow under his feet."

"He is not, sir!" said West. "Then you shall bring me and the man who accused me face to face."

"The sooner the better, my lad!" said the Commandant warmly. "How soon will he be up, doctor?"

"Within a fortnight, I hope, sir!" was the reply.

"Then goodbye for the present, my lad!" said the Commandant. "Your long-delayed despatch will send a thrill of hope through all here in Kimberley, for it breathes nothing but determination to hold the Boers at bay."

"May I say one word more, sir?" said West excitedly.

"What do you think, doctor?"

"He has said enough, sir, and if he talks much more we shall have the fever back. Well, perhaps he'll fret if he does not get something off his mind."

"What is it, then?" said the Commandant.

"I had a brave comrade to ride with the despatch, sir."

"To be sure, yes, I remember. What about him? Not killed, I hope?"

"No, sir, but badly wounded, and lying somewhere here."

"Poor fellow! I must see him. There must be promotion for you both."

"If you would see him, sir, and speak to him as you have spoken to me,"

said West, with the weak tears rising to his eyes.

"Of course, yes! There, shake hands, my lad: you have done splendidly!

Don't worry about the diamond charge! I can feel that it was a contemptible lie! Now, doctor, take me to your other patient."

"Ha!" sighed West, nestling back on his pillow with a calm look of content in his eyes, which closed directly after for a sleep that lasted ten hours at the least.

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

ANSON IN A HOLE--AND SOMETHING ELSE.

"Don't worry about the diamond charge!" said the Commandant; but Oliver West did, day after day, though he got better fast and was soon able to go and sit with Ingleborough, who slowly recovered, as a man does who has had nearly all the life-blood drained from his body. West worried, and Ingle borough did too; for those were anxious days, those in Kimberley, which brought strong men low, even near to despair, while the wounded, weak, and sick were often ready to think that relief would never come.

West and Ingleborough recovered from their wounds only gradually, to suffer with the rest, returning to duty when really unfit, while the deadly work went on, the men braving the sh.e.l.l and shot with more spirit when they knew that the women and children were safe within the mines.

Then came the day of relief, and with it the feeling that a long night of misery and despair had ended; and that night West and Ingleborough grasped hands, the former's pale sallow face lighting up with something of his old look, as he exclaimed: "Now, if the General would only march in with his prisoners, and bring Anson before us face to face!"

Everything, the proverb says, comes to the man who waits, and certainly it was so here, for the day did come when the General rode in at the head of his dashing cavalry brigade, and, what was more, with the prisoners, and with them Anson, very much reduced in weight.

There was something more than mere eagerness to be freed from an accusation which led the two young men down to the General's camp next morning to wait until they could see him in their turn.

On their way they sought out the sergeant who had had Anson under his charge, and he grinned at them in recognition.

"You were about right, gentlemen," he said, "about that prisoner."

"What about him?" said West eagerly.

"About his being an Englishman. I've seen a lot of him along with the other prisoners, and he's as English as can be. Piet Retif! Why, he's got James Anson written on the tails of his shirts--that is, what he's got left."

"But look here, sergeant," said Ingleborough anxiously: "what about his wagon?"

"Oh, that's all right, sir! Loaded up."

"Has he had the run of it?"

"Not he, sir. He wanted to, but I only let him get some under-toggery, shirts and such. I couldn't refuse him that!"

"Did he go alone?"