Chapter Fourteen.Man-hunting.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.”“Ifthey 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 letthemfeed 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.”
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.”
“Ifthey 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 letthemfeed 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.”
Chapter Fifteen.A Despatch-rider’s Work.“Hurrah!” cried West, as soon as they were once more well out in the open, their horses breathed, and ready to answer to any demand made upon them by their riders. “Keep abreast, and open out more. Faster! faster! We have only a short start this time.”“But we’ll make the best of it,” cried Ingleborough, between his teeth. “Bend down well! The firing has begun!”“It is speaking for itself,” said West grimly, as the buzzing whirr of the bullets began again, while faintly heard there came, half smothered by the thudding of their own horses’ hoofs, the clattering of Boer mounts being led out over the stones of the ravine in which they had been hid.“See any more of the old party?” cried West, as they rode well out now on to the level.“No; we’ve turned off so much that they are quite in our rear.”“Then the way’s clear for the river?”“If we can reach it, lad,” said Ingleborough; “and if we do it may be in flood, or impassable where we hit it.”“Or a hundred other things,” cried West angrily, as they tore along at full gallop now, with the bullets flying round them.“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 gratitude.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 coarse 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.But he tried only with one hand—his left—his right being engaged by his rifle, and to his utter astonishment the prisoner retorted by kicking his legs from under him and flinging him upon his back.A yell of anger arose from some, and of delight from others, all looking on while the discomfited Boer sprang up with a cry of rage, cocked his rifle, and, taking quick aim, would have fired point-blank at the prisoner had not his act been anticipated by the Boer who had before spoken. Quick as thought he sprang upon his companion, striking the presented rifle upwards with a blow from his own, and then grasping the infuriated man by the collar.“None of that!” he cried fiercely in Dutch. “Cornet or no cornet, I’m not going to stand by and see a cowardly murder done! We’ve got to fight, brother burghers, but we’ll fight like soldiers and men. Our name’s been stained enough by what has been done already.”“Here, you’d better go and fight for the rooineks,” cried the discomfited Boer fiercely.“I’m going to fight for my home and country, brothers,” cried West’s defender, “the same as you are: not help to murder a helpless boy who has behaved like a brave man.”The portion of the force who had seemed disposed to side against the speaker were disarmed by his words, and there was a general cheer at this, while the cause of the trouble growled out: “You’re a traitor to your country, and the commandant shall hear of this.”“No, no, no, no!” came in chorus. “Serves you right.”West made no resistance now, as his defender signed to him to give up his rifle, which, plus the bandolier, was handed over with a sigh, Ingleborough’s having already been taken away.The next thing done was to search the prisoners’ pockets—watch, purse, and pocket-book being taken away, but the inner belts containing the greater part of their money were entirely overlooked, while West stood breathing hard, his face wrinkled up and an agonising pain contracting his heart, for the Boer who had defended him unbuttoned the flap of his haversack, thrust in his hand, and brought out a couple of cake loaves, and then, one after the other, two carefully wrapped-up sandwiches, standing for a few moments with them in his hand, hesitating, while Ingleborough, who had recovered his senses, darted a meaning look at his suffering companion.“It’s all over with our expedition!” he said to himself. “Why didn’t poor Noll eat his sandwiches?”The moments were as agonising to him as to West, who could only stand in silence; but, having become somewhat versed in the tricks of those who fought the law through his friendship with Norton, an idea crossed his mind, and turning in a faint appealing way to the Boer who seemed to be holding in suspense the scales of success and failure, he said: “Don’t take our bit of provisions away! We’re prisoners; isn’t that enough?”The Boer fixed him with his eyes, noted his pallid face and the blood trickling down from the cut caused by his fall, and then, as if satisfied and moved by a feeling akin to compassion, he nodded his head, thrust the cake and the sandwich-like papers back into West’s haversack, and let it swing again under the young man’s arm.“Lucky for them we’re not hungry!” he said, in his own tongue, “or we shouldn’t have left them much.”“Why don’t you make them eat it?” cried the man who had fired. “For aught we know, it may be poisoned.”“Bah!” cried their friend, who had done the pair so good a turn; “let them be!”A couple of the Boers then approached with reins, but, in spite of the opposition that had taken place, the man who had taken West’s part again interfered, just as they proceeded to raise Ingleborough to bind his hands behind his back.“There is no need!” said the man sharply. “Can’t you see that he is too weak to stand? Help him upon his horse, and one go on either side to keep him in the saddle.”Then turning to West, he continued: “Mount; but you will be shot down directly if you attempt to escape.”“I am not going to leave my friend,” said West coldly. “I could have galloped away had I wanted to. Let me walk by his side to help him.”The man looked at the speaker searchingly and then nodded, West taking the place of one of the Boers, who placed himself just behind him with rifle ready. Then the little party moved off towards the kopje where the prisoners had been surprised.“How are you?” asked West, as soon as they were in motion.“I feel as if I were somewhere else!” was the half-laughing, half-bitter reply. “All use seems to have been completely knocked out of me, and the hills and kopjes go sailing round and round.”“That will soon pass off,” said West, and then after a short pause: “Well, we’re prisoners after all. It does seem hard now we have got so far! I wonder where they’ll send us?”“It does not much matter!” said Ingleborough. “Anywhere will do, if I can lie down and rest till this dreadful swimming and confusion passes off. As soon as it does we’ll escape—to eat the sandwiches,” he added meaningly.“If we can,” said West; “but don’t talk about them again! Oh, Ingle, I wish I had your sharp wits.”“Pooh! Where there’s a will there’s a way,” said Ingleborough faintly. “You might have escaped, but as you insisted upon being taken to share my lot I was obliged to do something, and now I must do nothing but think of how to get away.”The effort of talking was evidently too much for the poor fellow, and West confined himself to keeping him upright in the saddle, from which he would certainly have fallen but for his comrade’s willing arm.West was so fully occupied by his task, the two Boers offering not the slightest aid, that he paid no heed to the fact that their captors led them right round to the far side of the kopje, and then through a narrow gap of the rocks into a natural amphitheatre, wherein there was ample room for the formation of a great laager, the wagons being arranged in an irregular ellipse, thoroughly hidden from the veldt outside, while the rocks of the kopje roughly formed a rampart of vast strength, and apparently quite impregnable.West took in all he could as he and his companion in misfortune were led through and within the barricade of wagons to where the horses and cattle were securely tethered, while a burst of cheering saluted the returning party as soon as it was seen that they had prisoners and a couple of likely-looking mounts. It was a surprise, for no one journeying across the veldt could for a moment have supposed that so secure a natural stronghold existed behind the rocky barriers.The next minute the prisoners saw their sturdy ponies tied up to the tail of one of the great wagons, so near that West began to wonder whether when darkness came it would be possible to creep to their side, cut them free, mount, and make a old dash for liberty.But a glance at Ingleborough showed him that this would be impossible, for the poor fellow had sunk over sidewise as soon as he had been lifted out of the saddle, and lay perfectly inert and with his eyes half-closed. West knelt down by him and, taking his slung water-bottle, he raised his injured companion’s head a little and began to trickle, a few drops at a time, a little water between the sufferer’s lips.He was occupied in this way when he noted that a large group of the Boers had approached, one of whom, a short sturdy-looking individual, with swarthy skin and thick black beard plentifully sprinkled with grey, suddenly said, in good English: “What is the matter with him—shot?”“No,” replied West. “His horse was struck, and reared up, and my friend was thrown heavily upon his head.”“Oh, is that all?” said the Boer nonchalantly. “Let him sleep it off! But listen, you: we shoot prisoners who try to escape.”“I shall not try to escape and leave him,” said West coldly.The Boer commandant, for such he proved to be, gave him a keen look and then turned away to speak to one of the men, the result of the orders he gave being that Ingleborough was carried to one of the wagons forming the laager, and West ordered to follow and wait upon his friend, who, after his injury had been carefully bathed and bandaged, sank into a swoon-like sleep, leaving West to sit thinking of their position and pondering upon the fact that the two Basuto ponies were tethered in sight of where he sat, and that he still had the treasured-up despatches safe.His great trouble now seemed to be whether he should conceal the papers about his person or leave them in the haversack carelessly hung from the side of the wagon-tilt, lest he should be searched again and with a more serious result than the loss of watch and purse.Night came at last, with the difficulty still unsolved, and a yet more serious one to keep him awake.It was this: Ought he to wait till well on in the night, and then creep out by the sentry on duty outside, get to one of the ponies, and try and steal away?And the time glided on, with the question still unanswered. There was the horse, and there was the despatch; but there were also the Boers by the hundred, hemming him completely in, and, even if he were disposed to leave Ingleborough to his fate, any attempt seemed to be mad to a degree.
“Hurrah!” cried West, as soon as they were once more well out in the open, their horses breathed, and ready to answer to any demand made upon them by their riders. “Keep abreast, and open out more. Faster! faster! We have only a short start this time.”
“But we’ll make the best of it,” cried Ingleborough, between his teeth. “Bend down well! The firing has begun!”
“It is speaking for itself,” said West grimly, as the buzzing whirr of the bullets began again, while faintly heard there came, half smothered by the thudding of their own horses’ hoofs, the clattering of Boer mounts being led out over the stones of the ravine in which they had been hid.
“See any more of the old party?” cried West, as they rode well out now on to the level.
“No; we’ve turned off so much that they are quite in our rear.”
“Then the way’s clear for the river?”
“If we can reach it, lad,” said Ingleborough; “and if we do it may be in flood, or impassable where we hit it.”
“Or a hundred other things,” cried West angrily, as they tore along at full gallop now, with the bullets flying round them.
“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 gratitude.
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 coarse 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.
But he tried only with one hand—his left—his right being engaged by his rifle, and to his utter astonishment the prisoner retorted by kicking his legs from under him and flinging him upon his back.
A yell of anger arose from some, and of delight from others, all looking on while the discomfited Boer sprang up with a cry of rage, cocked his rifle, and, taking quick aim, would have fired point-blank at the prisoner had not his act been anticipated by the Boer who had before spoken. Quick as thought he sprang upon his companion, striking the presented rifle upwards with a blow from his own, and then grasping the infuriated man by the collar.
“None of that!” he cried fiercely in Dutch. “Cornet or no cornet, I’m not going to stand by and see a cowardly murder done! We’ve got to fight, brother burghers, but we’ll fight like soldiers and men. Our name’s been stained enough by what has been done already.”
“Here, you’d better go and fight for the rooineks,” cried the discomfited Boer fiercely.
“I’m going to fight for my home and country, brothers,” cried West’s defender, “the same as you are: not help to murder a helpless boy who has behaved like a brave man.”
The portion of the force who had seemed disposed to side against the speaker were disarmed by his words, and there was a general cheer at this, while the cause of the trouble growled out: “You’re a traitor to your country, and the commandant shall hear of this.”
“No, no, no, no!” came in chorus. “Serves you right.”
West made no resistance now, as his defender signed to him to give up his rifle, which, plus the bandolier, was handed over with a sigh, Ingleborough’s having already been taken away.
The next thing done was to search the prisoners’ pockets—watch, purse, and pocket-book being taken away, but the inner belts containing the greater part of their money were entirely overlooked, while West stood breathing hard, his face wrinkled up and an agonising pain contracting his heart, for the Boer who had defended him unbuttoned the flap of his haversack, thrust in his hand, and brought out a couple of cake loaves, and then, one after the other, two carefully wrapped-up sandwiches, standing for a few moments with them in his hand, hesitating, while Ingleborough, who had recovered his senses, darted a meaning look at his suffering companion.
“It’s all over with our expedition!” he said to himself. “Why didn’t poor Noll eat his sandwiches?”
The moments were as agonising to him as to West, who could only stand in silence; but, having become somewhat versed in the tricks of those who fought the law through his friendship with Norton, an idea crossed his mind, and turning in a faint appealing way to the Boer who seemed to be holding in suspense the scales of success and failure, he said: “Don’t take our bit of provisions away! We’re prisoners; isn’t that enough?”
The Boer fixed him with his eyes, noted his pallid face and the blood trickling down from the cut caused by his fall, and then, as if satisfied and moved by a feeling akin to compassion, he nodded his head, thrust the cake and the sandwich-like papers back into West’s haversack, and let it swing again under the young man’s arm.
“Lucky for them we’re not hungry!” he said, in his own tongue, “or we shouldn’t have left them much.”
“Why don’t you make them eat it?” cried the man who had fired. “For aught we know, it may be poisoned.”
“Bah!” cried their friend, who had done the pair so good a turn; “let them be!”
A couple of the Boers then approached with reins, but, in spite of the opposition that had taken place, the man who had taken West’s part again interfered, just as they proceeded to raise Ingleborough to bind his hands behind his back.
“There is no need!” said the man sharply. “Can’t you see that he is too weak to stand? Help him upon his horse, and one go on either side to keep him in the saddle.”
Then turning to West, he continued: “Mount; but you will be shot down directly if you attempt to escape.”
“I am not going to leave my friend,” said West coldly. “I could have galloped away had I wanted to. Let me walk by his side to help him.”
The man looked at the speaker searchingly and then nodded, West taking the place of one of the Boers, who placed himself just behind him with rifle ready. Then the little party moved off towards the kopje where the prisoners had been surprised.
“How are you?” asked West, as soon as they were in motion.
“I feel as if I were somewhere else!” was the half-laughing, half-bitter reply. “All use seems to have been completely knocked out of me, and the hills and kopjes go sailing round and round.”
“That will soon pass off,” said West, and then after a short pause: “Well, we’re prisoners after all. It does seem hard now we have got so far! I wonder where they’ll send us?”
“It does not much matter!” said Ingleborough. “Anywhere will do, if I can lie down and rest till this dreadful swimming and confusion passes off. As soon as it does we’ll escape—to eat the sandwiches,” he added meaningly.
“If we can,” said West; “but don’t talk about them again! Oh, Ingle, I wish I had your sharp wits.”
“Pooh! Where there’s a will there’s a way,” said Ingleborough faintly. “You might have escaped, but as you insisted upon being taken to share my lot I was obliged to do something, and now I must do nothing but think of how to get away.”
The effort of talking was evidently too much for the poor fellow, and West confined himself to keeping him upright in the saddle, from which he would certainly have fallen but for his comrade’s willing arm.
West was so fully occupied by his task, the two Boers offering not the slightest aid, that he paid no heed to the fact that their captors led them right round to the far side of the kopje, and then through a narrow gap of the rocks into a natural amphitheatre, wherein there was ample room for the formation of a great laager, the wagons being arranged in an irregular ellipse, thoroughly hidden from the veldt outside, while the rocks of the kopje roughly formed a rampart of vast strength, and apparently quite impregnable.
West took in all he could as he and his companion in misfortune were led through and within the barricade of wagons to where the horses and cattle were securely tethered, while a burst of cheering saluted the returning party as soon as it was seen that they had prisoners and a couple of likely-looking mounts. It was a surprise, for no one journeying across the veldt could for a moment have supposed that so secure a natural stronghold existed behind the rocky barriers.
The next minute the prisoners saw their sturdy ponies tied up to the tail of one of the great wagons, so near that West began to wonder whether when darkness came it would be possible to creep to their side, cut them free, mount, and make a old dash for liberty.
But a glance at Ingleborough showed him that this would be impossible, for the poor fellow had sunk over sidewise as soon as he had been lifted out of the saddle, and lay perfectly inert and with his eyes half-closed. West knelt down by him and, taking his slung water-bottle, he raised his injured companion’s head a little and began to trickle, a few drops at a time, a little water between the sufferer’s lips.
He was occupied in this way when he noted that a large group of the Boers had approached, one of whom, a short sturdy-looking individual, with swarthy skin and thick black beard plentifully sprinkled with grey, suddenly said, in good English: “What is the matter with him—shot?”
“No,” replied West. “His horse was struck, and reared up, and my friend was thrown heavily upon his head.”
“Oh, is that all?” said the Boer nonchalantly. “Let him sleep it off! But listen, you: we shoot prisoners who try to escape.”
“I shall not try to escape and leave him,” said West coldly.
The Boer commandant, for such he proved to be, gave him a keen look and then turned away to speak to one of the men, the result of the orders he gave being that Ingleborough was carried to one of the wagons forming the laager, and West ordered to follow and wait upon his friend, who, after his injury had been carefully bathed and bandaged, sank into a swoon-like sleep, leaving West to sit thinking of their position and pondering upon the fact that the two Basuto ponies were tethered in sight of where he sat, and that he still had the treasured-up despatches safe.
His great trouble now seemed to be whether he should conceal the papers about his person or leave them in the haversack carelessly hung from the side of the wagon-tilt, lest he should be searched again and with a more serious result than the loss of watch and purse.
Night came at last, with the difficulty still unsolved, and a yet more serious one to keep him awake.
It was this: Ought he to wait till well on in the night, and then creep out by the sentry on duty outside, get to one of the ponies, and try and steal away?
And the time glided on, with the question still unanswered. There was the horse, and there was the despatch; but there were also the Boers by the hundred, hemming him completely in, and, even if he were disposed to leave Ingleborough to his fate, any attempt seemed to be mad to a degree.
Chapter Sixteen.After a Rest.West started up into wakefulness the next morning from a dream in which he was galloping for his life with the Boers in full pursuit, and then he sighed and wondered when and how he had dropped asleep, for he could only recall being miserable, awake, and puzzled as to what to do, and then all seemed to have become blank till he was awakened by his captors’ busy stir and the crackling of the fires being lighted.West’s first steps were to see to his companion, who did not seem to have moved, and the first feeling was one of satisfaction; but directly afterwards he felt uneasy, for Ingleborough seemed to be unnaturally still, and a shiver ran through him as he leaned over where his friend lay on the floor of the wagon, to place a hand upon the injured man’s forehead below the bandage which made him look so ghastly.Then came reaction as it was proved that the sufferer had only been in a deep sound sleep.For Ingleborough’s eyes opened, to gaze at him wonderingly.“What’s the matter? Oh, it’s you, Noll!”“Yes; you startled me!”“Eh? What did I do?”“You lay so still!”“Did I? Oh, of course. I’ve been very fast asleep, I suppose. What time it is—nearly sundown?”“No, it’s morning—sunrise.”“I’m blessed! What, have I slept all night?”West nodded and smiled.“Soundly, I suppose!” he said. “But how are you?”“Horribly stupid and muddled! I don’t quite make out! Oh yes, I do now. I came down such a quelch that it knocked all the sense out of me, and my head feels all knocked on one side. But tell me: what about the despatch?”“I have it all right so far!”“That’s good. Where are our ponies?”“Tied up yonder to the wheel of a wagon.”“That’s good, too, lad! Then all we’ve got to do is to help ourselves to them the first chance and ride away.”“Yes,” said West drily, “the first chance; but will there be a first chance?”“Why not? It’s of no use to look at the black side of things! Where there’s ill luck there’s always good luck to balance it, and we’re bound to have our share of both. We had the bad yesterday; the good will come to-morrow, or next day, or the day after—who knows? We were not killed. You had your ear nicked and I had a bad fall which will cure itself as fast as the slit in your ear grows up. I call it grand to have saved the despatch! Are they going to give us any breakfast?”“Hah!” sighed West; “you’ve done me good, Ingle. I was regularly in the dumps.”“Keep out of them, then!” was the reply. “You didn’t expect to get your message delivered at Mafeking without any trouble, did you?”“No, no, of course not! Then you think we might make a dash for it some time?”“Of course I do; but I don’t suppose the chance will come to-day. Let’s hope that our next move may take us nearer our goal, for I don’t suppose the Boers will take us with them. They’ll send us prisoners to Pretoria, I suppose; and we must make our dash somewhere on the road.”Ingleborough was right: the chance for the dash did not come that day, nor the next, nor the next. For the Boer commando did not stir from the natural stronghold which had been made its halting-place. In fact, two fresh parties, for which there was plenty of room, joined them, and a good deal of business went on: men going out on expeditions and returning: wagons laden with provisions and ammunition and two big field-pieces arriving, as if the force was being increased ready for some important venture—all of which busy preparation took place under the eyes of the two prisoners, who, while being fairly well treated in the way of rations, were carefully guarded.“One would like to know a little more what it all means!” said Ingleborough. “As it is, one seems to be quite in the dark!”“And we’re doing nothing!” sighed West. “Oh, it’s terrible! I must begin to stir, even if it is only to bring about another check.”“What would be the good of that?”“Ease to one’s brain!” said West passionately. “Here have I been trusted with this mission and am doing nothing, while all the time the poor fellows at Mafeking must be watching despairingly for the despatch that does not come.”“Look here, old lad,” said Ingleborough sympathetically; “when a fellow’s chained down hand and foot it’s of no use for him to kick and strain; he only makes his wrists and ankles sore and weakens himself, so don’t do it! Believe me, the proper time to act is when they take you out of your chains! It’s very depressing, I know; but what can’t be cured—”“Must be endured. I know, Ingle; but here we are prisoners, and I can’t help getting more hopeless.”“But you must! Things can’t go on like this much longer! Either our troops will come here and attack the Boers, or the Boers will go and attack the British. Just have patience and wait!”“But here we are, just as we were nearly a week ago, and nothing has happened.”“Oh yes, something has!” said Ingleborough, with a smile. “I’ve got well again! The first morning I couldn’t have mounted my pony and ridden off even if they had brought it to the end of the wagon here and said: ‘Be off!’ To-day I could jump on and go off at full gallop. Do you call that nothing?”“No, of course not!” said West. “There, you must forgive me! I’m very discontented, I know; but you see why.”“To be sure I do! I say, though, you’ve been at that satchel! The sandwiches are gone.”West nodded.“Haven’t eaten them, have you?”“No, they’re sewed up in the belt of my jacket. I did it two nights ago, and I’m living in hopes that they will not search us again.”“That’s it, is it? Well, I’m glad you did that! There, keep a good heart; something is sure to happen before long!”“I only hope it may; even evil would be better than this miserable state of inaction. I think till I feel half-mad.”“Well, we won’t hope for the evil, only for something in the way of change, if it’s only to pay a visit to Pretoria gaol.”“What!”“Only so as to get some news to give to old Norton when we get back. It will interest him. I wonder whether he’s keeping his eye on Master Plump-and-Pink. Well, I am blessed!”“What is the matter? Are they making a move?” cried West excitedly, for Ingleborough had sprung to the end of their wagon prison to stand looking out.“Someone has!” cried Ingleborough angrily. “Look here! Why, old Norton must have been asleep.”
West started up into wakefulness the next morning from a dream in which he was galloping for his life with the Boers in full pursuit, and then he sighed and wondered when and how he had dropped asleep, for he could only recall being miserable, awake, and puzzled as to what to do, and then all seemed to have become blank till he was awakened by his captors’ busy stir and the crackling of the fires being lighted.
West’s first steps were to see to his companion, who did not seem to have moved, and the first feeling was one of satisfaction; but directly afterwards he felt uneasy, for Ingleborough seemed to be unnaturally still, and a shiver ran through him as he leaned over where his friend lay on the floor of the wagon, to place a hand upon the injured man’s forehead below the bandage which made him look so ghastly.
Then came reaction as it was proved that the sufferer had only been in a deep sound sleep.
For Ingleborough’s eyes opened, to gaze at him wonderingly.
“What’s the matter? Oh, it’s you, Noll!”
“Yes; you startled me!”
“Eh? What did I do?”
“You lay so still!”
“Did I? Oh, of course. I’ve been very fast asleep, I suppose. What time it is—nearly sundown?”
“No, it’s morning—sunrise.”
“I’m blessed! What, have I slept all night?”
West nodded and smiled.
“Soundly, I suppose!” he said. “But how are you?”
“Horribly stupid and muddled! I don’t quite make out! Oh yes, I do now. I came down such a quelch that it knocked all the sense out of me, and my head feels all knocked on one side. But tell me: what about the despatch?”
“I have it all right so far!”
“That’s good. Where are our ponies?”
“Tied up yonder to the wheel of a wagon.”
“That’s good, too, lad! Then all we’ve got to do is to help ourselves to them the first chance and ride away.”
“Yes,” said West drily, “the first chance; but will there be a first chance?”
“Why not? It’s of no use to look at the black side of things! Where there’s ill luck there’s always good luck to balance it, and we’re bound to have our share of both. We had the bad yesterday; the good will come to-morrow, or next day, or the day after—who knows? We were not killed. You had your ear nicked and I had a bad fall which will cure itself as fast as the slit in your ear grows up. I call it grand to have saved the despatch! Are they going to give us any breakfast?”
“Hah!” sighed West; “you’ve done me good, Ingle. I was regularly in the dumps.”
“Keep out of them, then!” was the reply. “You didn’t expect to get your message delivered at Mafeking without any trouble, did you?”
“No, no, of course not! Then you think we might make a dash for it some time?”
“Of course I do; but I don’t suppose the chance will come to-day. Let’s hope that our next move may take us nearer our goal, for I don’t suppose the Boers will take us with them. They’ll send us prisoners to Pretoria, I suppose; and we must make our dash somewhere on the road.”
Ingleborough was right: the chance for the dash did not come that day, nor the next, nor the next. For the Boer commando did not stir from the natural stronghold which had been made its halting-place. In fact, two fresh parties, for which there was plenty of room, joined them, and a good deal of business went on: men going out on expeditions and returning: wagons laden with provisions and ammunition and two big field-pieces arriving, as if the force was being increased ready for some important venture—all of which busy preparation took place under the eyes of the two prisoners, who, while being fairly well treated in the way of rations, were carefully guarded.
“One would like to know a little more what it all means!” said Ingleborough. “As it is, one seems to be quite in the dark!”
“And we’re doing nothing!” sighed West. “Oh, it’s terrible! I must begin to stir, even if it is only to bring about another check.”
“What would be the good of that?”
“Ease to one’s brain!” said West passionately. “Here have I been trusted with this mission and am doing nothing, while all the time the poor fellows at Mafeking must be watching despairingly for the despatch that does not come.”
“Look here, old lad,” said Ingleborough sympathetically; “when a fellow’s chained down hand and foot it’s of no use for him to kick and strain; he only makes his wrists and ankles sore and weakens himself, so don’t do it! Believe me, the proper time to act is when they take you out of your chains! It’s very depressing, I know; but what can’t be cured—”
“Must be endured. I know, Ingle; but here we are prisoners, and I can’t help getting more hopeless.”
“But you must! Things can’t go on like this much longer! Either our troops will come here and attack the Boers, or the Boers will go and attack the British. Just have patience and wait!”
“But here we are, just as we were nearly a week ago, and nothing has happened.”
“Oh yes, something has!” said Ingleborough, with a smile. “I’ve got well again! The first morning I couldn’t have mounted my pony and ridden off even if they had brought it to the end of the wagon here and said: ‘Be off!’ To-day I could jump on and go off at full gallop. Do you call that nothing?”
“No, of course not!” said West. “There, you must forgive me! I’m very discontented, I know; but you see why.”
“To be sure I do! I say, though, you’ve been at that satchel! The sandwiches are gone.”
West nodded.
“Haven’t eaten them, have you?”
“No, they’re sewed up in the belt of my jacket. I did it two nights ago, and I’m living in hopes that they will not search us again.”
“That’s it, is it? Well, I’m glad you did that! There, keep a good heart; something is sure to happen before long!”
“I only hope it may; even evil would be better than this miserable state of inaction. I think till I feel half-mad.”
“Well, we won’t hope for the evil, only for something in the way of change, if it’s only to pay a visit to Pretoria gaol.”
“What!”
“Only so as to get some news to give to old Norton when we get back. It will interest him. I wonder whether he’s keeping his eye on Master Plump-and-Pink. Well, I am blessed!”
“What is the matter? Are they making a move?” cried West excitedly, for Ingleborough had sprung to the end of their wagon prison to stand looking out.
“Someone has!” cried Ingleborough angrily. “Look here! Why, old Norton must have been asleep.”
Chapter Seventeen.Bad Shillings always come back.West stepped to his companion’s side, looked out between the rough curtains of the wagon, and saw a group of mounted Boers surrounding a freshly-arrived wagon with its long team of bullocks, the black voorlooper at the head and the driver with his enormous whip on the box.“Well,” said West, after a sharp glance, “there’s a fresh load of provisions, I suppose! What of it?”“Rub your eyes, lad, and look again.”“They don’t want rubbing.”“Well, of all the fellows! Look there, beyond those mounted men who escorted the wagon in—there where the commandant and the dismounted party are talking together.”“Yes, I see where you mean; but what has it to do with us? I don’t—yes, I do. Why, it’s Anson!” cried West excitedly.“Anson it is! I began to think you were going blind!”“But how strange! They have taken him prisoner then. Look here; we’re not going to have him with us.”“It doesn’t look as if he is a prisoner,” said Ingleborough; “they all seem too friendly. I believe the scoundrel has deserted from the town and come to join the Boers. What has old Norton been about?”“Is it possible?”“Oh, it’s possible enough, if old Norton has been to sleep. Rats desert sinking ships!”“Kimberley isn’t a sinking ship!” said West indignantly.“I don’t know so much about that, lad! There is a very small force ready to defend it; it’s a long way from help; and, as we see here, the enemy is swarming down upon it from all directions. You see, it’s so far from our forces and so near to the Free State border.”“Ah, there he is plainly enough, laughing with the commandant! Look, he clapped him on the shoulder!”“Yes, I give him credit for anything!” said Ingleborough. “I shouldn’t wonder if he was in full correspondence with the Boers and is ready to sell us as well as buy diamonds. As likely as not, he has slipped away with his swag so as to escape before the fighting begins. But how Norton can have let him get away is more than I can understand!”“Well, it’s plain enough that he’s here!” said West; “and I can’t help feeling glad that he is not a prisoner, for if he had been put with us it must have come to a quarrel. Look here, seeing what the treacherous thief is, we ought to denounce him to the commandant.”“Don’t do anything of the kind! What good would it do?”“But he is such a despicable wretch!”“What’s that to you?”“Ingleborough!”“Oh yes, I know what you’re ready to say; but you’ve got something else to do besides playing the virtuous part of denouncing Master Anson as a diamond-dealer. Besides, I don’t believe the Boers would think any the less of him if they believed you.”“They couldn’t help believing our evidence!” said West.“Nonsense! It isn’t your business!”“It’s every honest man’s business!” cried West hotly.“Not if he is on Government service with a despatch to deliver in Mafeking,” said Ingleborough, with a peculiar look at his companion.“Hah!” cried West; “you are right again! But—oh!”“Oh, what?”“Why, he was present when we volunteered to carry the despatch!”“To be sure, so he was!” cried Ingleborough excitedly.“Then as soon as he knows we have been captured he’ll denounce me to the commandant as the bearer of the message, and oh, Ingle, we shall be searched again!”“Yes,” was the thoughtful reply; “and you’ve got it on you. We might change jackets, but that would be no good. Could you rip it out of yours?”“Yes, of course, in a few moments.”“Then you’d better.”“Not now; it’s too late. We must wait for a better opportunity.”“But—”“No, no, I tell you,” cried West excitedly; “look, he’s not a prisoner. The scoundrel has recognised us and is coming here. Why, Ingleborough, he’s a traitor—a rebel. No wonder he got through the Boer lines. Look! there can be no doubt about it; he has joined their side. Those men, the Boer leaders, the commandants and field-cornets, cannot know that he is a thief.”“But they soon shall!” answered Ingleborough hoarsely.“No, no, keep quiet,” whispered West; “he’s laughing with them and coming here. Don’t say a word; wait! It’s my advice now.”“If I can!” muttered Ingleborough. “The skunk! He’s sending the blood dancing through my veins! He must be denounced, and if he begins to say a word about your volunteering to bear the despatch I’ll let him have it hot and strong.”“Why, you seem to have completely turned your coat!” said West bitterly.“I have! What we have just been saying has stirred up all my bile. But I wish I could turn your coat too—out of the wagon.”“Why not?” said West, as a thought occurred to him, and running to the other end of the vehicle, stripping off his jacket as he did so, he thrust out his head and called to the sentry whose duty it was to guard against any attempt to escape.“What is it?” said the man quietly.“Take my coat and hang it on the rocks yonder,” he said. “I’ve been sleeping in it night after night, and it’s all fusty and damp. Out yonder, right in the sun.”The request was so simple and reasonable that the man nodded, took the jacket, and was turning to go away.“Don’t let anyone meddle with it,” said West; “it’s my only one, and I don’t want a Kaffir to carry it off.”“He’d better not try!” said the Boer, with a meaning laugh, and he bore the jacket right away to where the sun was beating hotly upon the rock, where the next minute the garment was spread out.“Talk about me having a ready wit in an emergency!” said Ingleborough merrily; “why, I’m a baby to you, West, my son! There: I’m proud of you.”“Oh, but the risk!” whispered the young man. “That precious garment lying carelessly yonder!”“Carelessly? That’s just the way to keep it safe. Who’d ever think of examining the coat lying out there?”“The first man who goes near it!”“The first rogue, and he’d only feel in the pockets. But there’s no fear: that sentry would fire at any thief who tried to steal! That’s safe enough!”“I wish I could think so!” replied West. “The first thing when they come will be to ask me what I have done with my jacket.”“Pooh! In that loose, dark flannel shirt they’ll never think of it. I thought they’d have been here, though, before now.”They had to wait for some little time still, for the Boers had gathered about the new-comer, forming a half-circle, evidently to listen while Anson talked to them earnestly, his gesticulations suggesting to Ingle borough, rightly or wrongly, that he was describing the arrangements for defence made by the British garrison at Kimberley, which he had so lately left; and as he spoke every now and then the listeners nodded, slapped the stocks of their rifles, turned to make remarks to one another, and gave the speaker a hearty cheer.“Oh, you beauty!” growled Ingleborough. “I can’t hear a word you say; but I’m as certain as if I were close up that you’re telling those chuckle-headed Dutch that all they’ve got to do is to march straight in and take Kimberley, for they’ll find it as easy as kissing their hands.”“If he is telling them the weak points it’s downright treason,” said West bitterly, after a glance out of the wagon in the direction of the rocks on which lay his jacket.“It’s stand him up with a firing party, and a sergeant with a revolver to finish the work if it isn’t quite done,” said Ingleborough. “The cowardly scoundrel: he’ll be getting his deserts at last! I say, though, isn’t it sickening? A blackguard like that, who doesn’t stop at anything to gain his ends!”For Anson had finished speaking and the Boers had closed round him, patting him on the back and pressing forward one after the other to shake his hand, while he smiled at them in his mildest, blandest way.After a few more friendly words the ex-clerk began slouching slowly up, followed by half-a-dozen of the principal men, till he was close to the tail of the prison wagon where West and Ingleborough were seated trying to look perfectly indifferent, but the former with his heart beating heavily and a flush coming hotly into his cheeks, when the Boers stopped short, leaving Anson to speak, listening the while as if they anticipated a little amusement from their new friend the informer hailing the prisoners in the wain.“Hullo!” cried Anson, with one of his most irritating smiles—one full of the triumph over them he enjoyed and the contempt he felt, “hullo! Who’d have thought that the virtuous West and the enthusiastic sham detective Ingleborough would have come out here to join the Boers? But don’t tell me. I know: I can see how it is. You’ve both been bled, and that’s let some of the bounce out of you.”He stopped for a moment for those he insulted to reply, but as they both sat looking at him in cool contempt he went on jeeringly: “The Boers know what they’re about, I see. When a horse has the megrims they bleed him in the ear, and judging that the same plan would do for a donkey they’ve bled cocky West there, and bull-headed Ingleborough on the skull.”West’s face grew of a deeper red, and he drew in a long deep breath, for those of the Boers who understood English burst into a hearty laugh at this sally of the renegade’s.“Well, I’m glad of it!” continued Anson, taking the Boers’ laughter as so much approval. “It was all you wanted, Bully West, and I daresay, now that you’ve come to your senses, you’ll make a decent Boer. There, I’ll give you a recommendation for a clerkship, for you do really write a decent hand.”“Say thanks,” growled Ingleborough, with a sneer which told of his contempt; “he will no doubt have plenty of interest. He has come up to lead the Boer army’s band and give lessons on the flute.”Anson started as if he had been stung.“Quiet, man, quiet!” whispered West to Ingleborough; but it was in vain.
West stepped to his companion’s side, looked out between the rough curtains of the wagon, and saw a group of mounted Boers surrounding a freshly-arrived wagon with its long team of bullocks, the black voorlooper at the head and the driver with his enormous whip on the box.
“Well,” said West, after a sharp glance, “there’s a fresh load of provisions, I suppose! What of it?”
“Rub your eyes, lad, and look again.”
“They don’t want rubbing.”
“Well, of all the fellows! Look there, beyond those mounted men who escorted the wagon in—there where the commandant and the dismounted party are talking together.”
“Yes, I see where you mean; but what has it to do with us? I don’t—yes, I do. Why, it’s Anson!” cried West excitedly.
“Anson it is! I began to think you were going blind!”
“But how strange! They have taken him prisoner then. Look here; we’re not going to have him with us.”
“It doesn’t look as if he is a prisoner,” said Ingleborough; “they all seem too friendly. I believe the scoundrel has deserted from the town and come to join the Boers. What has old Norton been about?”
“Is it possible?”
“Oh, it’s possible enough, if old Norton has been to sleep. Rats desert sinking ships!”
“Kimberley isn’t a sinking ship!” said West indignantly.
“I don’t know so much about that, lad! There is a very small force ready to defend it; it’s a long way from help; and, as we see here, the enemy is swarming down upon it from all directions. You see, it’s so far from our forces and so near to the Free State border.”
“Ah, there he is plainly enough, laughing with the commandant! Look, he clapped him on the shoulder!”
“Yes, I give him credit for anything!” said Ingleborough. “I shouldn’t wonder if he was in full correspondence with the Boers and is ready to sell us as well as buy diamonds. As likely as not, he has slipped away with his swag so as to escape before the fighting begins. But how Norton can have let him get away is more than I can understand!”
“Well, it’s plain enough that he’s here!” said West; “and I can’t help feeling glad that he is not a prisoner, for if he had been put with us it must have come to a quarrel. Look here, seeing what the treacherous thief is, we ought to denounce him to the commandant.”
“Don’t do anything of the kind! What good would it do?”
“But he is such a despicable wretch!”
“What’s that to you?”
“Ingleborough!”
“Oh yes, I know what you’re ready to say; but you’ve got something else to do besides playing the virtuous part of denouncing Master Anson as a diamond-dealer. Besides, I don’t believe the Boers would think any the less of him if they believed you.”
“They couldn’t help believing our evidence!” said West.
“Nonsense! It isn’t your business!”
“It’s every honest man’s business!” cried West hotly.
“Not if he is on Government service with a despatch to deliver in Mafeking,” said Ingleborough, with a peculiar look at his companion.
“Hah!” cried West; “you are right again! But—oh!”
“Oh, what?”
“Why, he was present when we volunteered to carry the despatch!”
“To be sure, so he was!” cried Ingleborough excitedly.
“Then as soon as he knows we have been captured he’ll denounce me to the commandant as the bearer of the message, and oh, Ingle, we shall be searched again!”
“Yes,” was the thoughtful reply; “and you’ve got it on you. We might change jackets, but that would be no good. Could you rip it out of yours?”
“Yes, of course, in a few moments.”
“Then you’d better.”
“Not now; it’s too late. We must wait for a better opportunity.”
“But—”
“No, no, I tell you,” cried West excitedly; “look, he’s not a prisoner. The scoundrel has recognised us and is coming here. Why, Ingleborough, he’s a traitor—a rebel. No wonder he got through the Boer lines. Look! there can be no doubt about it; he has joined their side. Those men, the Boer leaders, the commandants and field-cornets, cannot know that he is a thief.”
“But they soon shall!” answered Ingleborough hoarsely.
“No, no, keep quiet,” whispered West; “he’s laughing with them and coming here. Don’t say a word; wait! It’s my advice now.”
“If I can!” muttered Ingleborough. “The skunk! He’s sending the blood dancing through my veins! He must be denounced, and if he begins to say a word about your volunteering to bear the despatch I’ll let him have it hot and strong.”
“Why, you seem to have completely turned your coat!” said West bitterly.
“I have! What we have just been saying has stirred up all my bile. But I wish I could turn your coat too—out of the wagon.”
“Why not?” said West, as a thought occurred to him, and running to the other end of the vehicle, stripping off his jacket as he did so, he thrust out his head and called to the sentry whose duty it was to guard against any attempt to escape.
“What is it?” said the man quietly.
“Take my coat and hang it on the rocks yonder,” he said. “I’ve been sleeping in it night after night, and it’s all fusty and damp. Out yonder, right in the sun.”
The request was so simple and reasonable that the man nodded, took the jacket, and was turning to go away.
“Don’t let anyone meddle with it,” said West; “it’s my only one, and I don’t want a Kaffir to carry it off.”
“He’d better not try!” said the Boer, with a meaning laugh, and he bore the jacket right away to where the sun was beating hotly upon the rock, where the next minute the garment was spread out.
“Talk about me having a ready wit in an emergency!” said Ingleborough merrily; “why, I’m a baby to you, West, my son! There: I’m proud of you.”
“Oh, but the risk!” whispered the young man. “That precious garment lying carelessly yonder!”
“Carelessly? That’s just the way to keep it safe. Who’d ever think of examining the coat lying out there?”
“The first man who goes near it!”
“The first rogue, and he’d only feel in the pockets. But there’s no fear: that sentry would fire at any thief who tried to steal! That’s safe enough!”
“I wish I could think so!” replied West. “The first thing when they come will be to ask me what I have done with my jacket.”
“Pooh! In that loose, dark flannel shirt they’ll never think of it. I thought they’d have been here, though, before now.”
They had to wait for some little time still, for the Boers had gathered about the new-comer, forming a half-circle, evidently to listen while Anson talked to them earnestly, his gesticulations suggesting to Ingle borough, rightly or wrongly, that he was describing the arrangements for defence made by the British garrison at Kimberley, which he had so lately left; and as he spoke every now and then the listeners nodded, slapped the stocks of their rifles, turned to make remarks to one another, and gave the speaker a hearty cheer.
“Oh, you beauty!” growled Ingleborough. “I can’t hear a word you say; but I’m as certain as if I were close up that you’re telling those chuckle-headed Dutch that all they’ve got to do is to march straight in and take Kimberley, for they’ll find it as easy as kissing their hands.”
“If he is telling them the weak points it’s downright treason,” said West bitterly, after a glance out of the wagon in the direction of the rocks on which lay his jacket.
“It’s stand him up with a firing party, and a sergeant with a revolver to finish the work if it isn’t quite done,” said Ingleborough. “The cowardly scoundrel: he’ll be getting his deserts at last! I say, though, isn’t it sickening? A blackguard like that, who doesn’t stop at anything to gain his ends!”
For Anson had finished speaking and the Boers had closed round him, patting him on the back and pressing forward one after the other to shake his hand, while he smiled at them in his mildest, blandest way.
After a few more friendly words the ex-clerk began slouching slowly up, followed by half-a-dozen of the principal men, till he was close to the tail of the prison wagon where West and Ingleborough were seated trying to look perfectly indifferent, but the former with his heart beating heavily and a flush coming hotly into his cheeks, when the Boers stopped short, leaving Anson to speak, listening the while as if they anticipated a little amusement from their new friend the informer hailing the prisoners in the wain.
“Hullo!” cried Anson, with one of his most irritating smiles—one full of the triumph over them he enjoyed and the contempt he felt, “hullo! Who’d have thought that the virtuous West and the enthusiastic sham detective Ingleborough would have come out here to join the Boers? But don’t tell me. I know: I can see how it is. You’ve both been bled, and that’s let some of the bounce out of you.”
He stopped for a moment for those he insulted to reply, but as they both sat looking at him in cool contempt he went on jeeringly: “The Boers know what they’re about, I see. When a horse has the megrims they bleed him in the ear, and judging that the same plan would do for a donkey they’ve bled cocky West there, and bull-headed Ingleborough on the skull.”
West’s face grew of a deeper red, and he drew in a long deep breath, for those of the Boers who understood English burst into a hearty laugh at this sally of the renegade’s.
“Well, I’m glad of it!” continued Anson, taking the Boers’ laughter as so much approval. “It was all you wanted, Bully West, and I daresay, now that you’ve come to your senses, you’ll make a decent Boer. There, I’ll give you a recommendation for a clerkship, for you do really write a decent hand.”
“Say thanks,” growled Ingleborough, with a sneer which told of his contempt; “he will no doubt have plenty of interest. He has come up to lead the Boer army’s band and give lessons on the flute.”
Anson started as if he had been stung.
“Quiet, man, quiet!” whispered West to Ingleborough; but it was in vain.
Chapter Eighteen.The Ringing of the Shilling.People make their plans in cold blood and forget all about them when the blood grows hot.It was so here. West had made up his mind what to do while cool, but acted just in the fashion he had cried out against to his companion.For as soon as Anson lounged up to them in his supercilious jaunty way, West’s cool blood warmed, grew hot at the scoundrel’s contemptuous look of triumph, and at the insult respecting the Boers boiled over.“How dare you!” he raged out. “Keep your distance, you contemptible cur, or, prisoner though I am, I’ll give you such a thrashing as shall make you yell for mercy!”“Hullo! What does this mean?” said one of the Boer officers, closing up, followed by the others.“The prisoner is a bit saucy!” said Anson contemptuously. “You did not bleed him enough!”“You know these two?” asked the officer.“Well, in a way,” said Anson, in a haughty, indifferent tone. “They were a pair of underlings where I was engaged at the diamond-mines. Insolent bullying fellows, both of them! But you’ll tame them down.”The Boer leader nodded.“A bit sore at being taken prisoners!” he said.“No,” cried West; “it is the fortune of war, sir. We are Englishmen, and we made a dash to escape Kimberley, and got through your investing lines.”“To carry despatches to the rooineks?”“No,” replied West. “Your men searched us and found no despatches.”“Messages then. You were going to the British forces?”“We should have joined them after a time, perhaps,” said West, speaking more coolly.“He’s lying!” said Anson sharply. “Have them searched again!”The Boer commandant nodded, gave the order, and half-a-dozen of his men came forward, after which the prisoners were ordered out of the wagon, and they let themselves down, when they were thoroughly searched from head to heel—of course, without result, and the Boer chief turned frowningly to Anson.“They must have hid the letter somewhere about the wagon then!”“Two of you get in and search!” said the commandant.This was carefully carried out, and the men descended.“Then they must have destroyed their message before you took them,” cried Anson, “or somehow since.”“They were carefully searched as soon as they were taken,” observed one of the field-cornets.“Yes,” said the commandant, “and I saw it done. Well, they will not carry any news to Mafeking. Tell them that the British are being swept into the sea east and south, and their rule is at an end. I want brave men who can ride and fight, so if they like to join the Federal forces and do their duty there will be a prosperous time for them. If they refuse there will be a long imprisonment, perhaps something worse.”“Mr Anson, the renegade, need not trouble himself, sir,” said West quietly. “Neither my companion nor I will do as he has done.”“You had better!” said Anson sneeringly. “It’s a grand chance for you now your characters are gone and the I.D. detectives are after you.”Ingleborough looked at the speaker sharply; but Anson made believe not to notice it and went on.“You’ve no character now, either of you,” he continued coolly. “Old Norton came after me as I was trekking south, utterly sick of the English lot. He came on the old pretext: that I had bought diamonds and was carrying them off. He searched again, and then I told him the simple truth—that you two had volunteered to carry despatches so as to get clear off with the swag you had acquired—after accusing me; but he professed not to believe me, and took me back to Kimberley, but the very next day he started off with half-a-dozen men to fetch you back, and I came away.”“With the diamonds you had hidden?” said Ingleborough sharply.“Perhaps,” replied Anson coolly. “So, you see, you had better join our party, for even if you escaped it would only be for the police superintendent to get hold of you both, and if he did, you wouldn’t find him such an excellent friend.”“Wants thinking about!” said Ingleborough drily. “But ‘our’ party—‘our’?”“Yes,” said Anson coolly. “I’ve made up my mind to belong to the right owners of the country for a long time past. We’ve got the gold at Johannesburg, and the diamonds at Kimberley are ours by right, and we’re going to have them.”There was a murmur of satisfaction from the Boers at this, and Anson went on nonchalantly: “That is one reason why I consented to serve the company in such a beggarly position. I wanted to learn all I could about the mining so that it might come in useful when we of the Boer party took possession.”“And then, I suppose,” said Ingleborough, “you’ll expect to be manager-in-chief?”“Well, I don’t go so far as that,” said Anson; “but, with my knowledge of the management of the mining business, I feel sure my Boer friends will find it to their advantage to retain me high up on the staff. You see, there are so many things in the way of checking losses which I have mastered.”“Stopping the illicit-diamond-buying and selling, for instance,” said Ingleborough sarcastically.“Exactly!” replied Anson, apparently without noticing the sarcasm; “and I’ve been thinking that no doubt I could put a good thing in both your ways. Of course, we have been bad enough friends; but I’ll pass over all that if you’ll serve me as faithfully as you did the company. What do you say?”“Say?” cried West.“Stop! Hold hard, Oliver!” cried Ingleborough, stopping him short; “this is a thing that can’t be settled in a minute. We want time. All I say now, Mr Anson, is that I’m glad we bear such a good character, seeing that we are illicit-diamond-dealers escaping with the plunder that we haven’t got.”“Exactly!” said Anson. “Very well, then, I’ll give you till to-morrow night to think it over, and you’ll soon see which side your bread’s buttered.”“Don’t stop me, Ingle,” said West hotly. “I can’t stand this. I must speak. This—”A sharp report from behind the wagon checked further words, and every man made a rush for this place or that in full expectation that a sudden attack had been made upon the laager within the rocky walls.At the same moment a Kaffir of the blackest type and with his hair greased up into the familiar Zulu ring bounded into sight, tripped, fell upon his hands, sprang up again, ran on, and disappeared, whilst a rush was made for the man who fired, leaving Anson and the prisoners together.The next minute West’s blood felt as if it was running cold in his veins as he saw, only a few yards from him and close to the stone upon which his jacket had been stretched, the sentry slowly re-loading his pistol. But the coat was gone.West had hard work to repress a groan. “My orders were to fire at anyone I saw stealing,” said the man surlily, and West heard every word.“Well, who was stealing?” asked one of the officers.“A Kaffir,” replied the sentry. “I’d got a jacket stretched out upon the stones yonder, to get aired in the sunshine, and I only took my eyes off it for a minute, when I saw a foot rise up from behind a stone, grab hold of the coat with its toes—”“Nonsense!” cried the officer; “a foot could not do that!”“Not do it?” said the man excitedly. “It had to do it; and it was creeping away, when I fired, and the black sprang up and ran.”“Where’s the jacket?”The officer’s question woke an echo in West’s breast, and he started, for it was just as if the question was repeated there, and it seemed to be echoed so loudly that he fancied those near must have heard it.“He’s got it, I suppose,” said the sentry coolly. “Carried it away, and a bullet too somewhere in his carcass.”A miserably despondent feeling attacked West at these words, for he had clung to the hope that he might be able to recover the despatch, succeed in escaping and delivering it in safety, however late; while now the desire to get away died out, for how could he return to Kimberley and confess that he had failed?He turned to glance at Ingleborough, who met his eyes and then shrugged his shoulders as much as to say: “It’s a bad job, and I pity you.”At that moment a hand was clapped heavily upon West’s shoulder, and the Boer who had saluted him so roughly pointed to the wagon, and he saw that his companion was being treated in the same way, while, the scare being over, upon their walking back and preparing to climb in, they were called upon to stop. Naturally the prisoners obeyed, and, turning, they found the group of Boers in earnest conversation once more with Anson, who at the end of a few minutes nodded decisively and approached his two old fellow-clerks, making West’s heart begin to thump with excitement and his eyes gleam, for the despair he felt at the loss he had sustained made him ready to turn fiercely upon the first enemy who addressed him.“Take it calmly!” whispered Ingleborough. “Let me diplomatise. You’ll do no good by making a row.”“Take it calmly!” whispered back West, “and at a time like this! I can’t!”“Look here, you two,” said Anson coolly. “Let’s have no more bones about the matter. These gentlemen say they have too much to think about to bother over any shilly-shallying on the part of a couple of prisoners. You know it’s a good chance, and I’ve told them you’ll both join along with me. Just tell them out and out you will.”“You miserable renegade, how dare you!” cried West fiercely.“Here, what does that mean?” cried the Boer commandant sharply.“Shamming!” replied Anson, with a contemptuous laugh. “They’re going to join us, knowing, as they do, that the game is all up at Kimberley; but they put on all this make-believe. They want to be able to say that they were forced to serve, so as to hedge—so as to make it all comfortable with their consciences, as they call them.”“It is false!” cried West furiously—“a tissue of lies! Don’t believe him; this man is no better than a miserable contemptible thief!”“What!” shouted Anson, lowering the rifle he carried and taking a step forward with what was intended to be a fierce aspect.But he only took one step, being checked suddenly by the action of West, who, regardless of the weapon, sprang at him, and would have wrenched away the rifle had he not been seized by a couple of the Boers, who held him fast.“Pooh! I don’t want to shoot the wretched cad!” said Anson contemptuously. “An old fellow-clerk of mine! He’s savage and jealous of my position here! He always was an ill-tempered brute!”“But he says that you are a thief!” said the Boer commandant sternly.“Pooh! A spiteful man would say anything!” cried Anson contemptuously. “Look here, sir, I’ve watched the Boer troubles from the first: I’ve seen how the English have been trying to find an excuse for seizing the two republics: I know how they got possession of the great diamond-mines by a trick arranged with the surveyors of the boundaries.”There was a low murmur of assent here from the gathering crowd of Boers who had now surrounded him.“Yes,” he said, raising his voice, “I knew all the iniquities of the British Government—how the English had seized the diamond-fields, and how they were trying to get the gold-mines, and as soon as the war broke out I made up my mind to join the people fighting for their liberty.”There was a burst of cheering from the few who could follow the speaker, and then a roar as soon as his words were explained to the crowd, while Anson looked round with his fat face growing shiny, as he beamed upon his hearers.“Yes,” said the Boer leader coldly; “but this young man, who knows you, charges you with being a thief.”“All cowardly malice!” cried Anson contemptuously, and giving his fingers a snap. “A thief?—a robber?—nonsense. Pooh! I only dealt in and brought away with me a few of the stones, which were as much mine as theirs. I was not coming away from the enemy empty-handed. I said to myself that I’d spoil the Egyptians as much as I could, and I did.”There was a shout of delight at this, and one of the field-cornets gave the speaker a hearty slap on the shoulder.“Yes, I brought some away,” continued Anson, rejoicing fatly in the success of his words; and, raising his voice, he said, first in English and then in Boer-Dutch: “I brought some away, and I wish I had brought more.”There was a fresh and a long-continued roar of delight, repeated again and again, giving the speaker time to collect his thoughts, and as soon as he could gain silence he continued.“Look here,” he said: “I came and joined the Boers because I believed their cause to be just; and I said to myself, knowing what I do of the secrets of the diamond-mines, I will be the first as soon as Kimberley is taken to show the commandants where the British tyrants have hidden away the stones that belong of right to the Boers, the stones that have been stolen from the earth—the land they fought for and won with their blood from the savage black scum who infested the country. I know where the stones are hidden away, and I can, if you like, lead you to what the British think you will never find. But if you are going to believe the words of this malicious boy, and consider me to be a common thief, I’ve done. You can have the few paltry stones I brought away to sell and pay for my bread and meat till the war is over, and let me go. I don’t want to act as your guide into Kimberley! It’s nothing to me! I have told you what I did; and what is more, I’d do it again!”“Yes,” said Ingleborough, in a whisper to West, as he sat holding his hand to his injured head: “I believe him there.”West nodded, and the next minute they saw Anson being led away in triumph by a crowd of Boers; but the commandant, with half-a-dozen more who seemed to be officers, and the man who had defended them when they were captured, remained close by the prisoners, talking together.Soon after, the commandant approached them, glanced at Ingleborough, who lay back, evidently in pain, and then turned to West: “You heard what your old friend said?”“Yes,” replied West.“It is all true?”“His base confession is,” said West boldly. “The man is a detected illicit-diamond-dealer.”“He only bought what the British wrongly claimed!” said the Boer warmly. “What right had they to make laws forbidding people to buy what was freely given up by the earth for the benefit of all?”“It is of no use for me to argue about the matter!” said West coolly. “I shall never convince you, and you will never convince me.”“Oh yes, I should, after you had come to your senses! There, we are not brutes, only men fighting for our liberties, and I like you, for you are brave and manly. Why not join our cause? It is just.”West looked the Boer full in the eyes, thinking the while that the man spoke in all sincerity and belief that his cause was right.“Well, what do you say?” cried the Boer.West tightened his lips and shook his head.The Boer frowned and turned to Ingleborough.“Well,” he said, “you join us, and you will not repent. Prove faithful, and you will gain a place of trust among us!”West listened for his comrade’s reply.“Oh, I can’t join without him,” said Ingleborough. “He’s master, and I’m only man!”“Then he was bearer of the despatch—what that man Anson said was true?”“Oh yes, that part of his story was true enough.”“That you were despatch-riders on the way to Mafeking—you two?”“Quite right.”“And you two had been diamond-dealers, and brought away a quantity?”“Just as many, as we schoolboys used to say, as you could put in your eye with the point of a needle. All a lie! Anson was putting his own case. All we brought away was the despatch.”“Then where is it?” said the Boer sharply.“I don’t know; I was not the bearer,” said Ingleborough quietly, “But you know where it is now?”“I—do—not,” said Ingleborough firmly. “I have not the slightest idea where it is!”“Then you have sent it on by someone else?”“No,” said Ingleborough. “There, you know that we have failed, and if you set us at liberty, all we can do is to go back to Kimberley and say what has happened.”“You will not go back to Kimberley,” said the Boer, speaking with his eyes half-closed, “and if you did it would only be to go into prison, for the Diamond City is closely besieged, and if not already taken it will in a few days be ours. There, go back to your wagon, and spend the time in thinking till I send for you again. The choice is before you—a good position with us, or a long imprisonment before you are turned out of the country.”He pointed towards their temporary place of confinement, and then turned away, while a couple of the Boers marched them to the wagon and left them in the sentry’s charge.
People make their plans in cold blood and forget all about them when the blood grows hot.
It was so here. West had made up his mind what to do while cool, but acted just in the fashion he had cried out against to his companion.
For as soon as Anson lounged up to them in his supercilious jaunty way, West’s cool blood warmed, grew hot at the scoundrel’s contemptuous look of triumph, and at the insult respecting the Boers boiled over.
“How dare you!” he raged out. “Keep your distance, you contemptible cur, or, prisoner though I am, I’ll give you such a thrashing as shall make you yell for mercy!”
“Hullo! What does this mean?” said one of the Boer officers, closing up, followed by the others.
“The prisoner is a bit saucy!” said Anson contemptuously. “You did not bleed him enough!”
“You know these two?” asked the officer.
“Well, in a way,” said Anson, in a haughty, indifferent tone. “They were a pair of underlings where I was engaged at the diamond-mines. Insolent bullying fellows, both of them! But you’ll tame them down.”
The Boer leader nodded.
“A bit sore at being taken prisoners!” he said.
“No,” cried West; “it is the fortune of war, sir. We are Englishmen, and we made a dash to escape Kimberley, and got through your investing lines.”
“To carry despatches to the rooineks?”
“No,” replied West. “Your men searched us and found no despatches.”
“Messages then. You were going to the British forces?”
“We should have joined them after a time, perhaps,” said West, speaking more coolly.
“He’s lying!” said Anson sharply. “Have them searched again!”
The Boer commandant nodded, gave the order, and half-a-dozen of his men came forward, after which the prisoners were ordered out of the wagon, and they let themselves down, when they were thoroughly searched from head to heel—of course, without result, and the Boer chief turned frowningly to Anson.
“They must have hid the letter somewhere about the wagon then!”
“Two of you get in and search!” said the commandant.
This was carefully carried out, and the men descended.
“Then they must have destroyed their message before you took them,” cried Anson, “or somehow since.”
“They were carefully searched as soon as they were taken,” observed one of the field-cornets.
“Yes,” said the commandant, “and I saw it done. Well, they will not carry any news to Mafeking. Tell them that the British are being swept into the sea east and south, and their rule is at an end. I want brave men who can ride and fight, so if they like to join the Federal forces and do their duty there will be a prosperous time for them. If they refuse there will be a long imprisonment, perhaps something worse.”
“Mr Anson, the renegade, need not trouble himself, sir,” said West quietly. “Neither my companion nor I will do as he has done.”
“You had better!” said Anson sneeringly. “It’s a grand chance for you now your characters are gone and the I.D. detectives are after you.”
Ingleborough looked at the speaker sharply; but Anson made believe not to notice it and went on.
“You’ve no character now, either of you,” he continued coolly. “Old Norton came after me as I was trekking south, utterly sick of the English lot. He came on the old pretext: that I had bought diamonds and was carrying them off. He searched again, and then I told him the simple truth—that you two had volunteered to carry despatches so as to get clear off with the swag you had acquired—after accusing me; but he professed not to believe me, and took me back to Kimberley, but the very next day he started off with half-a-dozen men to fetch you back, and I came away.”
“With the diamonds you had hidden?” said Ingleborough sharply.
“Perhaps,” replied Anson coolly. “So, you see, you had better join our party, for even if you escaped it would only be for the police superintendent to get hold of you both, and if he did, you wouldn’t find him such an excellent friend.”
“Wants thinking about!” said Ingleborough drily. “But ‘our’ party—‘our’?”
“Yes,” said Anson coolly. “I’ve made up my mind to belong to the right owners of the country for a long time past. We’ve got the gold at Johannesburg, and the diamonds at Kimberley are ours by right, and we’re going to have them.”
There was a murmur of satisfaction from the Boers at this, and Anson went on nonchalantly: “That is one reason why I consented to serve the company in such a beggarly position. I wanted to learn all I could about the mining so that it might come in useful when we of the Boer party took possession.”
“And then, I suppose,” said Ingleborough, “you’ll expect to be manager-in-chief?”
“Well, I don’t go so far as that,” said Anson; “but, with my knowledge of the management of the mining business, I feel sure my Boer friends will find it to their advantage to retain me high up on the staff. You see, there are so many things in the way of checking losses which I have mastered.”
“Stopping the illicit-diamond-buying and selling, for instance,” said Ingleborough sarcastically.
“Exactly!” replied Anson, apparently without noticing the sarcasm; “and I’ve been thinking that no doubt I could put a good thing in both your ways. Of course, we have been bad enough friends; but I’ll pass over all that if you’ll serve me as faithfully as you did the company. What do you say?”
“Say?” cried West.
“Stop! Hold hard, Oliver!” cried Ingleborough, stopping him short; “this is a thing that can’t be settled in a minute. We want time. All I say now, Mr Anson, is that I’m glad we bear such a good character, seeing that we are illicit-diamond-dealers escaping with the plunder that we haven’t got.”
“Exactly!” said Anson. “Very well, then, I’ll give you till to-morrow night to think it over, and you’ll soon see which side your bread’s buttered.”
“Don’t stop me, Ingle,” said West hotly. “I can’t stand this. I must speak. This—”
A sharp report from behind the wagon checked further words, and every man made a rush for this place or that in full expectation that a sudden attack had been made upon the laager within the rocky walls.
At the same moment a Kaffir of the blackest type and with his hair greased up into the familiar Zulu ring bounded into sight, tripped, fell upon his hands, sprang up again, ran on, and disappeared, whilst a rush was made for the man who fired, leaving Anson and the prisoners together.
The next minute West’s blood felt as if it was running cold in his veins as he saw, only a few yards from him and close to the stone upon which his jacket had been stretched, the sentry slowly re-loading his pistol. But the coat was gone.
West had hard work to repress a groan. “My orders were to fire at anyone I saw stealing,” said the man surlily, and West heard every word.
“Well, who was stealing?” asked one of the officers.
“A Kaffir,” replied the sentry. “I’d got a jacket stretched out upon the stones yonder, to get aired in the sunshine, and I only took my eyes off it for a minute, when I saw a foot rise up from behind a stone, grab hold of the coat with its toes—”
“Nonsense!” cried the officer; “a foot could not do that!”
“Not do it?” said the man excitedly. “It had to do it; and it was creeping away, when I fired, and the black sprang up and ran.”
“Where’s the jacket?”
The officer’s question woke an echo in West’s breast, and he started, for it was just as if the question was repeated there, and it seemed to be echoed so loudly that he fancied those near must have heard it.
“He’s got it, I suppose,” said the sentry coolly. “Carried it away, and a bullet too somewhere in his carcass.”
A miserably despondent feeling attacked West at these words, for he had clung to the hope that he might be able to recover the despatch, succeed in escaping and delivering it in safety, however late; while now the desire to get away died out, for how could he return to Kimberley and confess that he had failed?
He turned to glance at Ingleborough, who met his eyes and then shrugged his shoulders as much as to say: “It’s a bad job, and I pity you.”
At that moment a hand was clapped heavily upon West’s shoulder, and the Boer who had saluted him so roughly pointed to the wagon, and he saw that his companion was being treated in the same way, while, the scare being over, upon their walking back and preparing to climb in, they were called upon to stop. Naturally the prisoners obeyed, and, turning, they found the group of Boers in earnest conversation once more with Anson, who at the end of a few minutes nodded decisively and approached his two old fellow-clerks, making West’s heart begin to thump with excitement and his eyes gleam, for the despair he felt at the loss he had sustained made him ready to turn fiercely upon the first enemy who addressed him.
“Take it calmly!” whispered Ingleborough. “Let me diplomatise. You’ll do no good by making a row.”
“Take it calmly!” whispered back West, “and at a time like this! I can’t!”
“Look here, you two,” said Anson coolly. “Let’s have no more bones about the matter. These gentlemen say they have too much to think about to bother over any shilly-shallying on the part of a couple of prisoners. You know it’s a good chance, and I’ve told them you’ll both join along with me. Just tell them out and out you will.”
“You miserable renegade, how dare you!” cried West fiercely.
“Here, what does that mean?” cried the Boer commandant sharply.
“Shamming!” replied Anson, with a contemptuous laugh. “They’re going to join us, knowing, as they do, that the game is all up at Kimberley; but they put on all this make-believe. They want to be able to say that they were forced to serve, so as to hedge—so as to make it all comfortable with their consciences, as they call them.”
“It is false!” cried West furiously—“a tissue of lies! Don’t believe him; this man is no better than a miserable contemptible thief!”
“What!” shouted Anson, lowering the rifle he carried and taking a step forward with what was intended to be a fierce aspect.
But he only took one step, being checked suddenly by the action of West, who, regardless of the weapon, sprang at him, and would have wrenched away the rifle had he not been seized by a couple of the Boers, who held him fast.
“Pooh! I don’t want to shoot the wretched cad!” said Anson contemptuously. “An old fellow-clerk of mine! He’s savage and jealous of my position here! He always was an ill-tempered brute!”
“But he says that you are a thief!” said the Boer commandant sternly.
“Pooh! A spiteful man would say anything!” cried Anson contemptuously. “Look here, sir, I’ve watched the Boer troubles from the first: I’ve seen how the English have been trying to find an excuse for seizing the two republics: I know how they got possession of the great diamond-mines by a trick arranged with the surveyors of the boundaries.”
There was a low murmur of assent here from the gathering crowd of Boers who had now surrounded him.
“Yes,” he said, raising his voice, “I knew all the iniquities of the British Government—how the English had seized the diamond-fields, and how they were trying to get the gold-mines, and as soon as the war broke out I made up my mind to join the people fighting for their liberty.”
There was a burst of cheering from the few who could follow the speaker, and then a roar as soon as his words were explained to the crowd, while Anson looked round with his fat face growing shiny, as he beamed upon his hearers.
“Yes,” said the Boer leader coldly; “but this young man, who knows you, charges you with being a thief.”
“All cowardly malice!” cried Anson contemptuously, and giving his fingers a snap. “A thief?—a robber?—nonsense. Pooh! I only dealt in and brought away with me a few of the stones, which were as much mine as theirs. I was not coming away from the enemy empty-handed. I said to myself that I’d spoil the Egyptians as much as I could, and I did.”
There was a shout of delight at this, and one of the field-cornets gave the speaker a hearty slap on the shoulder.
“Yes, I brought some away,” continued Anson, rejoicing fatly in the success of his words; and, raising his voice, he said, first in English and then in Boer-Dutch: “I brought some away, and I wish I had brought more.”
There was a fresh and a long-continued roar of delight, repeated again and again, giving the speaker time to collect his thoughts, and as soon as he could gain silence he continued.
“Look here,” he said: “I came and joined the Boers because I believed their cause to be just; and I said to myself, knowing what I do of the secrets of the diamond-mines, I will be the first as soon as Kimberley is taken to show the commandants where the British tyrants have hidden away the stones that belong of right to the Boers, the stones that have been stolen from the earth—the land they fought for and won with their blood from the savage black scum who infested the country. I know where the stones are hidden away, and I can, if you like, lead you to what the British think you will never find. But if you are going to believe the words of this malicious boy, and consider me to be a common thief, I’ve done. You can have the few paltry stones I brought away to sell and pay for my bread and meat till the war is over, and let me go. I don’t want to act as your guide into Kimberley! It’s nothing to me! I have told you what I did; and what is more, I’d do it again!”
“Yes,” said Ingleborough, in a whisper to West, as he sat holding his hand to his injured head: “I believe him there.”
West nodded, and the next minute they saw Anson being led away in triumph by a crowd of Boers; but the commandant, with half-a-dozen more who seemed to be officers, and the man who had defended them when they were captured, remained close by the prisoners, talking together.
Soon after, the commandant approached them, glanced at Ingleborough, who lay back, evidently in pain, and then turned to West: “You heard what your old friend said?”
“Yes,” replied West.
“It is all true?”
“His base confession is,” said West boldly. “The man is a detected illicit-diamond-dealer.”
“He only bought what the British wrongly claimed!” said the Boer warmly. “What right had they to make laws forbidding people to buy what was freely given up by the earth for the benefit of all?”
“It is of no use for me to argue about the matter!” said West coolly. “I shall never convince you, and you will never convince me.”
“Oh yes, I should, after you had come to your senses! There, we are not brutes, only men fighting for our liberties, and I like you, for you are brave and manly. Why not join our cause? It is just.”
West looked the Boer full in the eyes, thinking the while that the man spoke in all sincerity and belief that his cause was right.
“Well, what do you say?” cried the Boer.
West tightened his lips and shook his head.
The Boer frowned and turned to Ingleborough.
“Well,” he said, “you join us, and you will not repent. Prove faithful, and you will gain a place of trust among us!”
West listened for his comrade’s reply.
“Oh, I can’t join without him,” said Ingleborough. “He’s master, and I’m only man!”
“Then he was bearer of the despatch—what that man Anson said was true?”
“Oh yes, that part of his story was true enough.”
“That you were despatch-riders on the way to Mafeking—you two?”
“Quite right.”
“And you two had been diamond-dealers, and brought away a quantity?”
“Just as many, as we schoolboys used to say, as you could put in your eye with the point of a needle. All a lie! Anson was putting his own case. All we brought away was the despatch.”
“Then where is it?” said the Boer sharply.
“I don’t know; I was not the bearer,” said Ingleborough quietly, “But you know where it is now?”
“I—do—not,” said Ingleborough firmly. “I have not the slightest idea where it is!”
“Then you have sent it on by someone else?”
“No,” said Ingleborough. “There, you know that we have failed, and if you set us at liberty, all we can do is to go back to Kimberley and say what has happened.”
“You will not go back to Kimberley,” said the Boer, speaking with his eyes half-closed, “and if you did it would only be to go into prison, for the Diamond City is closely besieged, and if not already taken it will in a few days be ours. There, go back to your wagon, and spend the time in thinking till I send for you again. The choice is before you—a good position with us, or a long imprisonment before you are turned out of the country.”
He pointed towards their temporary place of confinement, and then turned away, while a couple of the Boers marched them to the wagon and left them in the sentry’s charge.