"There are not many settlers who can't," answered Mr. Lovat, with a touch of dignity in the tones of his voice.
"I mean no offence," said the major. "Do you feel strong enough to go with us?"
"I'm all right now," replied the settler. "My head is somewhat sore, and the muscles of my neck a little stiff, but I would rather go on with you, sir."
"Very good, you shall," said the officer. Turning to Morton, he continued, "We have a spare rifle?"
"Half a dozen, sir," answered the trooper. "I have an extra one with me, which Mr. Lovat can have, if he understands the mechanism."
"Then kindly hand it over," said the major.
Turning again to the settler, the officer continued, "Luckily you have not been much troubled in these parts, but I'm afraid you soon will be. The Boers are getting short of ammunition, and these roving bands of burghers are merely the advanced guard of a bigger force of Boers. The supply of ammunition has been stopped through Lorenzo Marquess, and the burghers are making their way to Port Nolloth, and other places on the west coast, where contraband stuff in the shape of rifles and cartridges are to be had in plenty. I suppose the majority of the settlers about here are loyal?"
"I'm afraid I can't answer that question entirely in the affirmative. I know that I am, and all living in the Kopje Farm are loyal subjects of the King. Many young men have disappeared from the district, and I saw signs of the coming storm long before it burst."
"What! even in this remote part?" asked the Colonial officer.
"A couple of years before the war broke out, Boer emissaries went about from place to place, ostensibly as pedlars, but I am certain they were secret agents of the Transvaal Republic," answered Mr. Lovat.
The major addressed a few words to his men. They were brief and to the point:—
"Boys," he began, "I have no doubt that we are on the track of Christian Uys, and I sincerely trust we shall be able to lay him by the heels. Perhaps this is part of his commando in front of us. Be careful with your ammunition, for we have none to spare. Don't waste it. I hope to be in Springbokfontein to-morrow when the regiment arrives; but in the evening we must harry the enemy, who I am pleased to say have on the whole proved honourable men. The day after to-morrow I promise you a couple of days' rest. Then we move on to Port Nolloth. Now, boys, a fairly good pace, but don't blow your horses."
The road, however, was so difficult that there was no prospect of the latter occurrence happening. The troopers could only proceed in double file, and the men were compelled to assume an oblong formation, which would have formed a splendid target for an enemy armed with Mausers or light field guns.
Morton, the most daring man in the Auckland Rangers, was well in front when a "Phit!" "Phit!" followed by a fusillade, caused him to halt.
The New Zealanders had been discovered by the enemy, who by this time had passed out of view. The bullets went whistling over the heads of the Colonials, who, on the order of Major Salkeld, retired to the shelter of a small donga, some two hundred yards in their rear.
Every fourth man was detailed to lead his own and three comrades' horses to a watercourse naturally protected by immense boulders of quartz.
Ten dismounted troopers were next ordered by the major to creep forward to the position they had just left, while the rest of the unencumbered advanced one hundred yards and flung themselves on the ground.
Mr. Lovat, savage at the loss of his gold, begged the officer to allow him to form one of the advanced party, and the major readily acceded to his request.
The ostrich farmer declared that he was all right,—the pain in his head had left him,—and Morton having glanced approval, Major Salkeld consented, and the eleven Imperialists crept forward on hands and knees towards the spot they had just vacated.
The sun was on the point of dropping below the western horizon, and in half an hour's time darkness would cover the veldt, so there was no time to be lost if the Boers were to be captured.
The long, low buildings which constituted Van Donnop's farmstead could be plainly seen, but the Boers had disappeared within a donga. Their approach to the farm, however, would be covered by the troopers' fire, and Morton and his fellow-Colonials waited impatiently for the enemy to emerge from the donga.
Presently a couple of Boers dashed across the space intervening between the donga and the farm.
Two shots rang out, and thin wreaths of bluish-tinted vapour hung round the muzzles of the rifles wielded by Mr. Lovat and Trooper Morton.
"Got him!" ejaculated the latter, as one of the Boers threw up his arms and fell from the horse. The animal, relieved of its burden, galloped wildly towards the farmstead.
The second Boer, on seeing his fellow-burgher fall, wheeled his horse quickly round and dashed furiously for the shelter of the donga.
A dozen leaden messengers of death whistled around him, but he and his steed passed through them unharmed.
With the exception of a solitary shot, no fire came in reply to the troopers' fusillade, and Morton waved to the remainder of the troop to come up, which the latter did.
A consultation was held between Major Salkeld and Morton, and it was eventually decided to await the darkness which would descend on the veldt. Under its cover an advance would be made on the farm.
Just as the last streaks of yellow light were fading into a mass of purplish gray, Morton begged his major to allow him to creep forward in the direction of the farm for the purpose of reconnoitring, and the officer assented.
Slinging his rifle behind his back, the scout slowly edged his way to where the stricken Boer lay on the veldt. The Free Stater was dead, for a couple of bullets had pierced his brain.
He was a rough-looking man with unkempt hair and beard, and the daring trooper, still prostrate, turned him over and coolly began to search his pockets.
Morton abstracted several documents, which he thrust into an inner pocket of his khaki tunic, after which he retraced his way to his comrades, still crawling on his hands and knees.
He handed the papers to Major Salkeld, who determined to advance at once on Van Donnop's farmstead. In answer to an interrogation from his superior, Morton explained that he had not seen any Boers except the dead one, and that the Dutch settler's farm betrayed no sign of life.
Ten minutes later, the New Zealanders were drawn up in front of the farm buildings, and Morton, always the first to volunteer for any hazardous duty, went straight to the front door of the house and began hammering with the butt of his rifle upon its stout panels.
Footsteps could be heard in the passage, and a voice called out in Dutch, "Who is there?"
"Open the door instantly," commanded Morton brusquely, "or I'll blow it in."
The door was unfastened by a man of immense girth of chest. His physiognomy showed his Dutch extraction.
"What do you want?" demanded the farmer gruffly. This time he spoke in English.
Morton in reply gave a shrill whistle, and the next moment a dozen troopers crowded into the wide passage, Major Salkeld being at their head.
"Now, then, Mynheer—whatever your name is, we want to have a look at the stores you have concealed in this building," began the major. "I shall also be glad to learn something about the whereabouts of Christian Uys and his commando."
"I know nothing about them," answered Van Donnop, for such he was.
"You can tell some other person that tale," observed Major Salkeld, with a laugh. "You have some food in the house, I suppose?"
Van Donnop looked at the speaker with a surly expression on his face.
"Oh, we shall pay for everything we consume," continued the officer. "Look sharp, my man;" and Van Donnop with bad grace led the way to a large kitchen, in which half a dozen Kaffirs, evidently farm hands, were seated round a log fire.
Food was supplied to the troopers, as well as forage for their horses, after which the premises were thoroughly searched for concealed arms; but the hunt proved fruitless. After paying for the supplies, the major and his troopers rested for a couple of hours.
Sounds of rifle-firing away to the west were heard, and soon after midnight the New Zealanders, accompanied by Mr. Lovat, set out for the Kopje Farm, and all earnestly hoped they would come across their brave and stubborn enemy.
And so they did; but with the exception of a few desultory shots fired at an uncertain range, and without any casualties on their side, Major Salkeld and his troopers, as related in the last chapter, arrived on the scene where Jack Lovat and his handful of Kaffirs had so bravely defended his father's farmstead.
Jack Lovat was warmly congratulated by the New Zealanders on their arrival at the Kopje Farm, and the ostrich farmer naturally felt proud of his son.
The return of Bessie was described by Jack, and Trooper Morton said he had no doubt whatever that the animal which had bolted when its Boer rider was shot by Trooper Morton and Mr. Lovat was none other than the gallant little mare.
As soon as daylight broke, the Colonials, headed by Mr. Lovat, Jack, and Pete, examined the country in front of the ostrich kraal to a distance of a thousand paces.
Three dead Boers and two horses were found stretched on the veldt, and Jack Lovat had no difficulty in identifying the body of Jan Van Donnop, one of the sons of the Dutch settler of that name.
Jan and his brothers, Piet and Stephanus, had mysteriously disappeared from the neighbourhood soon after the outbreak of hostilities, and their father had given it out that the lads had gone to reside at East London with a relative in order to learn the trade of milling.
Mr. Lovat made a more important discovery. Attached to the saddle of a dead horse was the cowhide bag which the previous morning had contained his five hundred sovereigns, but which, alas! was now empty.
The pockets of the dead Boers revealed no traces of the lost gold, and Morton remarked, "I'm afraid, Mr. Lovat, you have said good-bye to the coin. None of these men are leaders."
Mr. Lovat was examining the features of one of the dead men, and without heeding the Colonial's remark, he said, "This fellow is the man who commandeered Bessie."
With the aid of pickaxes and spades, a trench was made by the New Zealanders, and the stricken Boers and their horses were decently interred, Jack Lovat taking charge of several mementos belonging to Jan Van Donnop.
Jack was possessed of a humane nature, and being far from illiterate and possessing a cosmopolitan turn of mind, he had not the racial prejudices so largely predominant during the awful struggle in South Africa which commenced at the end of the nineteenth century.
Morton had taken intuitively to Jack, and after the interment he whispered in the lad's ear, "Why don't you join us? The war is not half over yet, and there is sure to be a lot of fighting. Ask your father to allow you to come with us."
"I'm afraid he won't," answered Jack. "I wanted to join Driscoll's Scouts, but he refused, and I believe I have learned the first duty of a soldier."
"And pray, what is that?" queried the trooper.
"Why, obedience," replied Jack. "I owe that duty to my father, who is most kind to me. Besides, I hardly think it would be right for me to leave mother and Mary just now. Mary is my sister. You saw her when your fellows came here."
"Well, all I can say, youngster, is that you are a brick and no mistake," said the trooper enthusiastically. "What did you feel like when the Boers came up? Timid?"
"Hardly," remarked Jack laconically. "I was only sorry that they didn't try to storm in broad daylight. I mean about noon, say."
The trooper laughed outright at Jack's bold statement, and said, "Well, I thought we New Zealanders were a cool set of fellows, but you ostrich people take the cake."
The pair were approaching the Kopje Farm, bringing up the rear-guard, when Jack turned and asked, "You have been a soldier all your life, haven't you?"
The trooper laughed as he replied, "Oh dear no; I'm a working jeweller by trade, and when at home am engaged by a large firm in Auckland. When the mother country called for men, I volunteered for service in South Africa. Why do you ask the question, my lad?"
"I thought you had always been a soldier, for you look so like one," answered Jack; and Morton felt a trifle elated, for what man or boy exists who does not inwardly relish a small modicum of flattery?
"You have nothing in the shape of diamonds, I suppose, in this part of the country?" queried the trooper. "I have examined the clay in several dongas as we came along, and from what I know of mineralogy, I should say that diamonds are to be found in this district."
"Crystals are common enough about here," answered Jack. "I have a collection which I will show you when we reach the farm. Among the pebbles are several fine garnets and amethysts. One of our 'boys,' Pete by name, picked up a stone, which he found embedded in a sort of bluish clay only a fortnight ago. It is too dull, however, for a diamond."
During the few minutes occupied in the return to the farm, Morton thought deeply about what Jack had told him. He was a thorough patriot, but since he had been in South Africa his mind had dwelt largely on diamonds, for exaggerated accounts of the mineral resources of the veldt had reached New Zealand.
Mr. Lovat was a thoughtful man, and since the beginning of the war had laid up big supplies of eatables in the shape of hams, bacon, preserved meats, and tins of jam and marmalade.
It seemed as though the Kopje Farm had been designedly prepared for a siege, for in the big storeroom at the back of the house were provisions calculated by Mr. Lovat to last at least twelve months, and these were being added to.
The major determined to allow his men a few hours' rest, and the horses were off-saddled and given a good feed of corn, Jack Lovat paying particular attention to Morton's mare, which was a magnificent creature nearly seventeen hands high, and noted for its swiftness and sureness of foot.
Jack conducted his newly-made friend round the ostrich kraal, and explained the various operations connected with the hatching of eggs and the plucking of the birds' plumage, and the trooper evinced great interest in the young settler's narration.
The remains of poor Zacchary, the "boy" who was shot at the loophole, had been reverently interred, and Jack and his friend were standing alone beside the mound of freshly turned earth, when the latter observed, "Oh, by the way, Jack, I would very much like to have a look at that stone you spoke to me about."
"You mean the pebble Pete gave to me?" asked Jack.
"Yes, I think that is the nigger's name," replied Morton.
To the trooper's great surprise, Jack instantly fired up. "No, that won't do; we don't call our 'boys' niggers. They are our 'boys,' and faithful ones they are, too."
The New Zealander smiled at Jack's impetuosity, and remarked, "A very good trait in your character. Only we have seen so many Kaffirs since we have been in the country that all nice distinctions are washed out, and we call the blacks generally 'niggers,'—not a very gentlemanly expression, I admit."
"Our 'boys' maybe are above the general run," said Jack, "but they are tried and trusty ones. I shall never forget how they volunteered to a man to defend this place, when they might have slunk away. Their fate, too, if captured, they well knew, for they would have been brutally sjambokked and then shot. The boys stood up as good as the best of white men, and I admire them. Poor old Zacchary! Oh, you spoke about the stone my father's native foreman gave me; I will bring it;" and Jack walked across to the house, the New Zealander all the while admiring the stalwart figure of the ostrich farmer's son.
Jack presently returned, and handed the stone to Morton, who carefully examined it with the eye of an expert.
The pebble was about the size of a large hazel nut, with a straw-coloured tint, and Morton twirled it between his finger and thumb for quite a minute before speaking.
"The Colonial cut the cords.""The Colonial cut the cords."
"Do you know what this pebble really is?" he asked. An unusual brightness shone in his eyes as he spoke, and he glanced keenly at Jack.
"A pebble, of course," answered our hero. "Pete said he saw several others of the same kind where he found this one."
"And where did Pete find the stone?" queried the trooper.
"In a donga about a couple of miles from here, just over the kopje," answered Jack.
"I'll tell you something later on," said Morton,—"a thing that will probably astonish you."
Jack Lovat's eyes opened rather wider than usual as he asked, "Is the pebble a diamond?"
"A genuine stone, my lad, and just as good in quality as the Kohinoor. If you can lay your fingers on a dozen more such stones, you can give up ostrich farming and go back to the old country."
"If you are staying here any length of time, perhaps you will go with me to the donga. Pete knows the spot to a nicety," said Jack.
"We'll see," remarked the trooper. "I must look up the major and learn his plans. I should like nothing better than to pay a visit to this wonderful donga. You will excuse me now;" and he strode off towards his troopers, who were engaged in rubbing down their horses.
A hardier lot of warriors than the men of C Troop Auckland Rangers, it would be difficult to find or even imagine. Their ages ranged from twenty to forty, every man of them standing six feet and over. Maoriland indeed had sent its best sons to do battle for the empire, the centre of which is the little sea-girt isle whose ensign is the Union Jack.
The New Zealanders were right royally treated by the owner of the Kopje Farm, and Major Salkeld determined to remain until evening, when the horses would be up-saddled and preparations made for the march to Springbokfontein.
This was just what Morton desired, and at noon, guided by Jack Lovat and Pete, the New Zealander set out for the donga where the Kaffir had found the crystal.
Each of the trio carried a rifle, with a supply of ammunition. The ascent of the kopje was made with considerable difficulty; for path there was none, and treacherous holes were abundant.
"Be careful," said Jack, turning round to the Colonial. "A broken leg, or maybe two, won't be very nice."
"All right, my lad; I'm on the look-out for possible squalls," answered the trooper. "I wonder if we shall come across any Boers."
"That is hardly likely," observed Jack. "There are no roads beyond the top of the kopje, and no farms for a dozen miles."
The summit of the kopje was reached, when a grand panorama spread out in front of Jack Lovat and his two companions. Rheni Kop, a rugged kopje with a part of its summit shaped like the tower of a castle, loomed some half-dozen miles away. Leading to the kopje were two deep dongas, and it was to the one on the right that the trio were bound. For many years the donga had been known as Diamond Valley.
"Tell the 'boy' to lie down," said Morton, as soon as they arrived at the top of the kopje; "and you as well, Jack," he went on. "I want to have a peep round the country with my glasses. People don't look well sometimes on the skyline."
Jack and Pete at once obeyed instructions; and Morton, taking out his glasses, for a few moments peered through them.
"All's correct," he said, after replacing the glasses in their leather case. "I don't think any doppers are about here. And now, Jack, kindly instruct your 'boy' to show us the place where he found the pebble."
Jack said something to Pete in a low tone of voice, to which the Kaffir replied, "All right, Baas Jack. Come along;" and leading the way, Pete with careful steps made tracks towards the donga on the right.
Progress was necessarily slow, for boulders of rock, and little gullies are not conducive to rapid locomotion.
Onward the three tramped for a distance of half a mile, when Pete halted at a part of the donga where its side rose almost perpendicularly to a height of ten or twelve feet.
The rock was composed of gneiss, along which bands of bluish-coloured clay ran in horizontal layers.
"Dis was de place where I found de glass pebble, Baas Jack," said the Kaffir, pointing to a ledge of rock through which a small stream of water trickled.
Morton by this time had pulled out a large clasp knife and was engaged in chipping off portions of the blue clay, which yielded readily to the impact of the knife.
The weapon struck something hard, and withdrawing the knife, Morton cut away the clay surrounding it. After all, the object might only be a fragment of rock, but the New Zealander's heart began to beat faster than was its wont.
"By heavens," he muttered, "if this turns out to be a klip (diamond)!"
Presently the stone was in his hand, and he anxiously pared off the fragments of blue clay adhering to it.
"A crystallised stone, at any rate," he ejaculated, placing the find in the breast pocket of his tunic. He again proceeded to excavate more clay, when he was arrested by a cry from the Kaffir. "Look, Baas Jack," exclaimed Pete. "De Boers! de Boers!"
Morton's knife dropped out of his hand, and hastily picking up his rifle, he queried, "Where are they, Pete?"
"Down dere, baas," answered the Kaffir. "I saw de heads ob two Boers peep ober, about five hundred yards away. I am sure dey must——"
Pete's answer was prematurely finished, for the "pip-pop" of half a dozen Mausers rang out, and the next moment Jack Lovat, with blanched face, was lying on the ground, and a stream of blood trickled down the left sleeve of his jacket. Jack's rifle slipped from his grasp, and but for the safety catch, a bullet would probably have whizzed near Morton; for the barrel rested on a fragment of rock, and the New Zealander was directly in the line of fire.
The latter bent over Jack, who was writhing with pain. It was only the work of a moment for Morton to pick up his clasp knife and rip open a seam of the garment.
Jack, although a brave lad, winced, while the trooper examined the wound.
"Only a flesh hurt," said Morton; "lucky, though!" and swiftly applying the field dressing, he bound up the injured limb.
Another peculiar whistle heralded the approach of a shower of bullets fired by unseen marksmen.
"I guess we are in a tight hole now," soliloquised Morton. "We'll have to get a place of shelter somehow. Can you manage to walk, my lad?" addressing Jack. But our hero was already on his feet.
"I'm all right now," answered Jack, although he looked far from being in that desirable state.
"We must get down to the donga as quickly as possible; there will be more shelter. I'll carry you, Jack."
"No, no!" said Jack. "I can manage to walk. You might take my rifle, please, for my arm seems paralysed."
With some difficulty, Jack Lovat and his two companions made tracks for the kopje overlooking his father's farm, but long before the summit over which they meant to pass on their hands and knees was reached, Morton was bowled over by a bullet, and but for the friendly protection of a shoulder-strap buckle, would undoubtedly have been killed. As it was, the missile, after being deflected by the buckle, lodged in the muscles of his upper right arm, and rendered that member useless.
Although in great pain, with blood trickling from the unstanched wound, the New Zealander, forming the rear-guard, turned his face in the direction of the Kopje Farm, and with tightened lips moved forward towards the summit.
They had not proceeded more than a hundred paces when the scout stumbled and fell.
The hardy frame of the New Zealander, stricken as he was, could not stand the strain, and he tumbled over in a dead faint.
"This is a predicament, Pete," said Jack, as he bent over the prostrate figure. "We must, however, get to some place of shelter;" and the brave lad looked around him.
A natural cave opened its yawning mouth about fifty yards away, and towards its friendly shelter Pete and Jack managed to drag their still unconscious ally.
The firing had ceased, but Jack had the conviction they were still being watched by the enemy.
The cave was the mouth of a depression such as is commonly seen among the kopjes of South Africa, and with some difficulty, for Jack's arm was powerless, the wounded trooper was carried inside. Morton soon regained consciousness, but his mind was clouded, and he talked somewhat incoherently.
"Keep the beggars off, my lad," he said to Jack. "This confounded wound has disabled me."
Our hero asked for the loan of Morton's glasses, and creeping to the mouth of the cave, glanced along the donga.
He thought he saw objects above the rocks at a distance of some five hundred paces, and came to the conclusion that what he saw were slouch-hats worn by invading Boers.
The slouch-hats seemed to advance. He glanced again, but boulders of rock only met his gaze. Soon the hats grew larger in size and number, and a mist spread before Jack's vision. Rheni Kop with its castellated tower became a blurred image, even through the clear atmosphere of the veldt.
"Pete!"
"Yes, Baas Jack," answered the Kaffir.
"Come here, and tell me what you make of these things."
The Kaffir crept to Jack's side, but refused the glasses which Jack had handed to him.
"My eyes are good, baas. I can see well widout dese," said Pete. "We are done for, Baas Jack. More dan fifty ob de rascals are coming. Shall I fire, baas?"
"No, certainly not, Pete," replied Jack, whose wound had infused in the lad's mind a certain amount of wholesome discretion.
"Dey have de white flag up, baas," said Pete. "Dere be five comin' dis way. Shall I fire?" and the eyes of the Kaffir sparkled. Pete went on: "De foremost one is Piet Van Donnop, de brute who once sjambokked me for nuthing. May I fire, baas? I can bring him down like an aasvogel (vulture)."
"Nothing of the sort, Pete," replied Jack. "We are powerless. Let them come on."
"All right, baas," said Pete. "If you say dat, they might as well see me;" and the Kaffir slipped outside the cave, carrying his rifle with him.
"Come back, you fool!" cried Jack; but he was powerless to prevent his father's native foreman from disobeying his command.
Pete gazed with an air of nonchalance at the approaching figures, who were now only three hundred yards away. The Kaffir stood leaning on his rifle. His brows were knitted, and all the wild savagery of his nature was aroused.
The Boers halted, and presently two of their number, one of them carrying a white handkerchief affixed to the barrel of his rifle, advanced towards Pete.
The latter glanced at the breech of his rifle, opened it, after which his eyes enlarged in wonderment. The breech and magazine were empty. Jack Lovat, who was peering over the edge of the cave, cried, "Drop your rifle, Pete!" but the command was not obeyed.
"Dey shall see no hands ob mine go up," muttered the Kaffir; "an' if de Boer is Piet Van Donnop, he can look out."
The strangers advanced, and the next moment Jack Lovat heard the cry, "Hands up, 'boy,' or we'll fire!"
Pete clutched his rifle, and advancing a few paces, delivered a stroke with the butt of his weapon on the head of the foremost Boer, and the latter tumbled over.
A moment later, brave Pete, the Kaffir "boy," fell, pierced through the brain by a bullet. He expired almost instantly, leaving his young master and the wounded New Zealander helpless in the hands of the Boers.
The Dutchman whom the unfortunate Pete had floored was Piet Van Donnop, a son of the farmer of that name. Although stunned by the blow administered by the Kaffir, he soon regained consciousness.
A number of infuriated Boers stood around the mouth of the cave, gesticulating wildly in the guttural Taal tongue.
Jack and Morton could both be plainly seen. The ostrich farmer's son had risen to his feet, and gazing steadily at a Boer who had covered him with his rifle, cried, "Shoot, you coward!"
The next moment would have been Jack's last, had not a powerful arm struck up the rifle barrel. Piet Van Donnop saved our hero's life.
"Oh, it is you, Lovat," said Piet, whose head was covered with a bloodstained bandage. "What are you doing here, and who is your companion? Ah! one of the rooibaatjes, I see."
Morton struggled to his feet and faced the Boers.
"I'm not a rooibaatje," said Morton, "but I am fighting in their cause. You can do your worst. I'm not a hands-upper, or a white-flagger either," he continued scornfully.
The Boers withdrew a few paces, but not before securing the two rifles and the bandoliers worn by Jack and Morton.
A consultation took place among the burghers, and Jack's quick ears detected among other sentences the words, "Shoot the dogs." Their fate was evidently trembling in the balance, and Jack's thoughts wandered to the Kopje Farm, his father, mother, and Mary.
Then a bearded man of immense stature stepped into the cave and approached Morton, who with a pallid face was leaning against a boulder of rock.
The Boer addressed Morton in good English. "To what regiment do you belong, rooinek?" he demanded.
"That is my business," answered the scout haughtily. "I decline to answer."
"Where are your fellows?" asked the Boer, without displaying any sign of temper.
"I decline to give you any information whatever," replied Morton.
"A sjambok may elicit what I desire to know," said the Boer grimly. "You are speaking now to Christian Uys. You have heard of me, I suppose?"
"Oh yes, I have," answered the scout. "We have been trying for some time to locate you."
"Pray be careful in what you say," said Uys. "You are not an Englishman?"
"I am not," said Morton, "but I fight under the British flag."
"You belong to the New Zealand corps called Rangers," said Uys in a peculiar tone of voice. "You see we burghers can beat your boasted Intelligence Department. Bah! the British Government with their hundreds of thousands of rooibaatjes cannot beat a few simple farmers;" and Uys gave vent to a loud laugh.
The Boer went on: "We want to catch a man of your regiment. Morton is his name. You know him, I suppose?"
"I decline to answer any of your questions," replied the trooper firmly.
"Well, when you reach your corps, you might tell this Morton, that if we catch him, a sjambokking awaits him, followed by a dose of lead. He has already killed five of my best men."
Jack Lovat was listening with bated breath to the conversation, and he wondered at the cool courage displayed by the New Zealander.
Piet Van Donnop came forward in answer to something put to him by the Boer leader.
"How is your father, Jack?" asked Piet; "and I must not forget your mother and little Mary. I suppose she is quite a woman by now."
"They are all right," replied Jack. "I never thought you would have joined the rebels, Piet."
"And why not, Jack?" asked Piet. "They are my own flesh and blood, and I am only fighting for my own. The commandant wishes me to ask you how many troopers are quartered at the Kopje Farm? I ought to have been there now, but I am acting as despatch rider for the commando."
The question was put in Dutch, a language Morton was not conversant with.
"The commandant had better find out for himself. You will get a warm reception if you go to the Kopje Farm," replied Jack testily.
"That is just what we are going to do," said Van Donnop. "I have my brother Jan's death to avenge. I have heard he is dead."
"But not on my father, Piet?" queried Jack. "His only fault is that of being a loyalist. You had better tell the commandant to leave the Kopje Farm severely alone, if his men don't want to receive a shock from which they will not soon recover."
Piet laughed at this, after which he said, "All right, Jack, you have to come with us. Your friend will remain where he is until we come back for him."
"No, I won't leave him," cried Jack. Turning to Morton, he went on: "They want me to go along with them and leave you here, but Jack Lovat is hardly built that way."
The trooper stared, and there was a world of meaning in the glance he bestowed on Jack. The glance said quite plainly, "Go," and the look was accentuated by a slight nod.
"Pete delivered a stroke with his weapon.""Pete delivered a stroke with his weapon."
"We must trouble you for those boots," said the commandant. "No, we want nothing else. I see the spurs are pretty well worn. It won't be policy on your part to offer any resistance. Hans Erasmus," calling to one of his men, "you are badly in need of a pair of boots. Take these," and he pointed to Morton's boots. The Boer, an unkempt fellow, whose clothes were almost in rags, certainly was in need of foot-gear, for the soles had left the uppers, and his toes protruded from beneath the untanned leather. To Jack's surprise, Morton made no resistance, but allowed the Boer to annex the boots.
The latter soon transferred them to his own feet, and expressed his satisfaction at the exchange by uttering a guttural "Ach!"
"You are wounded?" said Uys, addressing Morton.
"I would not be here talking to you if I had not been," replied the trooper. "It is a mere scratch, though. You don't use expanding bullets, or explosive ones, for that matter. It is very good of you, I'm sure."
"Don't be sarcastic, my good man. You are quite sure you can make yourself comfortable till we come back?"
"I shall be all right," replied Morton. "The sooner you leave me the better I shall like it."
Commandant Uys smiled. "You are rather a humorous sort of fellow. May I ask you one question?"
"As you please," answered Morton gruffly.
"How long will it take for you to reach the Kopje Farm? Don't stare, my man. We are pretty well informed as to all movements made by the rooibaatjes. I should ask you to unstrip your tunic, but that would be a waste of energy, because you Colonials who act as scouts carry no identity cards. I am afraid we must inconvenience you for a little time. You shall not, however, go hungry. Stephanus, a piece of biltong for the rooinek. You will like it, for it is good fare while serving on the veldt."
Saying this, Commandant Uys strode out of the cave to where his burghers were standing near their horses.
A minute later, Morton, whether against his wish or not, found his ankles firmly secured by a piece of hide rope. His hands had been left unbound, but without a knife it was an impossibility to set himself free, and that instrument had been taken from him.
Jack Lovat was compelled to mount one of the spare horses belonging to the sections of the commando, and to his infinite satisfaction found that the horses' heads were turned in the direction of Rheni Kop, instead of the Kopje Farm. A bullet between his ribs from the rifle of a Britisher was too unpleasant a possibility to contemplate, so he felt devoutly thankful when he found himself proceeding in an opposite direction.
Glances full of meaning had passed between Jack and Morton, and the latter knew that his boy-friend would leave no stone unturned to assist him from his unenviable position.
After leaving the cave, the Boers rode straight on Rheni Kop, Piet Donnop being alongside our friend Jack.
"What brings you here, Lovat?" asked Piet in English, and speaking in a whisper. "Diamond Valley seems to have an attraction for you."
"And for you as well, I should say," retorted Jack.
"Looking after gold, or what?" queried Piet.
"I was not aware that gold is to be found in these parts," answered Jack. "What do you mean by roaming about the country, robbing and molesting peaceable inhabitants? Do you know anything about the five hundred sovereigns my father lost only yesterday?"
A flush spread over the Dutchman's swarthy face as he answered, "I have had none of Mr. Lovat's sovereigns."
"Then you know about the way my father has been treated?" Jack asked.
Piet evaded the question, and merely said, "I am sorry we came up with you to-day, Lovat. I, at least, bear you no ill-will; but I would strongly advise you to keep your tongue still and ask no ugly questions. It is unfortunate that we met you. Does your wound pain you?"
"Only a slight stiffness and soreness inconveniences me—that is all," answered Jack. "By the way, where are we bound for?"
"Number one, ugly question," replied Piet. "I may as well tell you that you won't see Kopje Farm to-night, and most probably not to-morrow."
"And what about my friend whom you have tied up in the cave? You will surely never leave him to starve?" queried Jack.
"By no means," answered Piet, with a laugh. "He will be released in good time—that is, when the commandant thinks fit. Christian Uys has something up his sleeve." The last sentence was uttered in a whisper.
"And what is that, Van Donnop?"
"Ugly question, number two," was the Dutchman's response. "You know what you Britishers say, 'The third time is catching-time.' I am right, I suppose?"
After that, Jack Lovat held his peace, but did not forget to use his eyes. Life on the veldt had taught him many lessons. Like the Red Indians of the western prairies, Jack had studied rocks, flowers, the sun, moon, and stars in their various phases, and in veldt-craft was becoming a past-master.
For an hour the commando rode ahead, and when halted by order of Christian Uys, had passed round Rheni Kop, which now stood four or five miles on their left flank.
The Boers debouched on a grassy plain, very limited in extent, and surrounded by little flat-topped kopjes.
To Jack's immense surprise, he saw forty or fifty waggons and Cape carts on the plain. Several hundred horses and many head of oxen were grazing on the veldt, and at least two hundred additional burghers were in the laager.
These formed the major portion of the formidable Christian Uys's commando, and Jack Lovat as he passed into the laager thought he had never seen such a motley crew.
Many of the burghers glanced at Jack from beneath their bushy eyebrows, bestowing ominous scowls on the young Britisher, which he answered with a haughty stare.
The burghers off-saddled, and after giving their horses a feed of mealies, began to refresh themselves with a repast of biltong, biscuits, and jam.
Jack was placed under a guard, one of whom he was glad to find was Piet Van Donnop. Under his protection our hero knew that he would receive no ill-treatment.
Van Donnop insisted upon Jack receiving medical treatment from a burgher who had walked a Berlin hospital, but whose indiscretions had caused him to be expelled before he took his degree.
Dirck Hartmann, for such was the medico's name, proved a very agreeable sort of young fellow, and showed great kindness to Jack. He examined the boy's wound, and found that a bullet had passed through the fleshy inner portion of the arm, luckily without touching an artery. As Jack said, it was a scratch—an ugly one it must be said; but the prompt application of the field dressing by Morton had minimised the loss of blood. The limb felt stiff and sore—that was all.
"You will see that this young fellow has good treatment," said Hartmann to Piet Van Donnop, as he left Jack.
"Certainly, doctor," was Piet's reply. "He is in safe hands with me;" for which Jack thanked him.
As the sun was on the point of dropping below the horizon, the Boer sentries were planted on the kopjes surrounding the plateau, and Jack was ordered to crawl into a waggon, on the floor of which were spread several layers of empty mealie bags.
Before he went to roost, Jack's observant eyes had been busy. He noticed with keen interest the picketing of the horses in the immediate vicinity, and deep satisfaction sprang up in his breast as he thought of a sharp bowie knife which he carried in the leg of one of his high boots.
He had made a strong resolve to get away from the laager before morning broke, and he determined that nothing short of utter disablement would prevent him from accomplishing his purpose.
The resolve was strengthened by a conversation he overheard between two burghers, soon after darkness fell. Jack's thoughts were passing between the bowie knife, secreted in his boot, and the picketed horses. Among the latter was a beautiful roan, evidently the property of a field-cornet or other officer.
His mind also wandered to the Kopje Farm. He wondered what they were doing, and if Major Salkeld and his men had departed for Springbokfontein. Then he thought of Morton lying bound in the cave in Diamond Valley.
Jack had stretched himself on the mealie sacks when he heard his family name mentioned, and his ears were all attention in a moment.
"Hans," said a voice in a low whisper, "the rooineks will have no chance at all. Johann Klaasen has just come in, and reports that thirty of them are leaving the Kopje Farm for Springbokfontein in the early dawn to-morrow. That is good news, for every man of them will be shot down before they have proceeded two miles on their journey. Half of the commando—one hundred and fifty strong—have left for Langeman's Nek, where there is abundant shelter for our men. These New Zealanders boast about never requiring quarter. They will get none;" and a low chuckle followed.
Jack Lovat's breath came thick and fast. He knew Langeman's Nek very well, and as the speaker hinted, he knew it formed an admirable place of ambush.
The minutes seemed to pass on leaden wings to the British youth so strangely confined in the camp of a savage enemy. Jack's mind was made up. He would use his utmost endeavour to escape from the laager, and if he could not secure the roan mare, make his way on foot to the Kopje Farm, provided no other mount came in his way.
At last complete silence reigned in the laager, and Jack cautiously raised himself on his elbow and peered over the side of the waggon. His sense of hearing was overstrained by his peculiar and dangerous position. He thought he heard the flap of a rifle-strap as if it struck the barrel of a Mauser rifle, and lay quietly down again.
A few minutes later, he again pulled himself up, and without noise clambered over the side of the waggon, then dropped on the ground. His wounded arm caused him much pain, but he set his teeth and bore it bravely. The night was a black one, but his keen eyesight informed him that the picketed horses had been removed from the vicinity of the waggon.
Jack fell on his hands and knees, and crawled forward, cautiously winding his way between the wheels of several waggons.
At last he was clear of the laager, and the ring of pickets only had to be passed. Still on his hands and knees he crept, his heart beating violently, and sharp pains darting through his temples. If only he could get safely through, he would trust to Providence to guide him safely to the Kopje Farm.
A gaunt figure, standing by a horse, attracted his attention, and a voice called out in Dutch, "Who goes there?" The question was followed by an ominous clicking sound. Jack still crawled forward, his right hand now gripping the bowie knife. His strength was almost exhausted, and the pain in his arm increased in severity.
With rare courage and determination, Jack sprang to his feet, plunged the bowie knife into the chest of the bewildered sentry, who immediately fell, at the same time relaxing his grasp of the horse's reins. It took but a moment for Jack to mount, and digging his spurless boots into the sides of the commandeered property, he darted across the veldt.
For a couple of miles Jack rode hard across the veldt—not without risk, for several rifle shots rang out, and bullets whizzed perilously near his ears. His escape had evidently been discovered.
When he pulled up his panting steed, he had completely lost his bearings. All that he could do was to wait for the rising of the moon, when he trusted to his knowledge of veldtcraft to guide him to the Kopje Farm.
The horse which he rode was flecked with foam, and the poor brute trembled in every limb.
"Well, I reckon I'm in a fine pickle now," muttered Jack, as he dismounted. Slipping his arm into the horse's bridle, he led the animal towards a small kopje, whose summit was indistinctly lined against the dark sky.
He had an idea that he had seen the kopje before, but was not sure. He would wait a little longer.
The base of the kopje was fringed with a growth of various kinds of bushes, and the fear of tumbling into unseen depressions on the veldt, and prospective chances of broken limbs, made him very cautious.
The welcome light of the moon soon spread over the veldt, and Jack examined the saddlery on the back of his newly acquired steed.
To his great joy, he found a holster-case attached to the saddle, and inside the case was a revolver loaded in every chamber. He was now provided with a means of defence, if attacked by man or beast.
Once or twice, he had heard what seemed to be low rumblings of thunder; but the sky was clear, and the wonderful stars glittered with a brightness only seen in Southern latitudes.
He tried to locate his position, but had to dolefully confess to himself that he was lost, and that he could not recognise any spot on the landscape.
The horse was still trembling in every limb, as though some unknown terror were creeping over it. He tried to drag the beast forward, but it refused to budge, and a strange fear crept through Jack's mind.
He had had a little experience of the king of beasts, and he came to the conclusion that the horse had scented danger in the shape of lions.
His fears were soon realised, for a loud roar burst upon his ears, and two pairs of shining yellow eyes peered at him from beneath a big mimosa bush.
His heart sank as it were into his boots, and he dragged his horse's head round. His first thought was to mount and make all haste from the spot, but his limbs seemed temporarily paralysed.
The growling increased, beginning with a blood-curdling wail that ended in a terrific roar.
The ground seemed to tremble beneath Jack's feet, and he gave himself up for lost. The opposition of armed men had no terrors for Jack Lovat, but he could not contemplate with equanimity the probability of being devoured piecemeal by infuriated lions.
He retreated slowly, still leading the horse, but keeping his eyes fixed on the globes of fire which seemed to advance.
Two long tawny forms began a crouching march towards the ostrich farmer's son, and Jack clutched the revolver with a nervous grip, his forefinger pressing lightly on the trigger. If the horse should happen to break away, all would be up.
The tawny forms were but a few paces away, crouching low down, as though about to make a spring, so grasping the pommel of the saddle, with an energy born of despair, Jack vaulted into the seat, and set forth at a rapid gallop.
His spirits rose as he sped onwards, and he was congratulating himself upon his very narrow escape, when his horse stumbled and fell on the veldt, with a terrible crash, throwing Jack over its head.
Our hero thought that every bone in his body had been broken, but he managed to stumble to his feet.
To his horror, he found that his horse's right fore-leg was broken, and the poor beast unable to stand.
The two hideous forms were following, and even now were only a few yards distant.
Jack prayed fervently for deliverance, and before he could realise what was happening, the fierce brutes had sprung upon the horse, which was screaming in agony.
He could hear a terrible crunching sound as the lions began munching their yet alive prey.
He dared not expend a shot, and deeming prudence to be the better part of valour, he left the unfortunate horse to the cruel mercies of the lions, and ran as fast as he could across the veldt, trusting that the savage beasts would satiate their hunger upon the horse's carcass, and refrain from pursuing him.
He felt sick and weary. His wound had induced a fever, which made him somewhat light-headed. He stopped running, and trudged doggedly along, in what direction he knew not.
How long he wandered he never knew, but he halted when he came to a donga; for a fire, burning brightly, pulled him up.
He saw the glare of the fire when some distance from it, and conjectured that a party of Boers or British Irregulars on trek had encamped for the night in the donga.
The figures of several men, evidently asleep, were seated round the fire, while some distance away from the latter, a number of horses were picketed, and grazing upon the sparse grass.
Jack's eyesight was good, despite the rough experience he had recently gone through, and lying flat on his stomach, he watched the strange spectacle.
An uncouth-looking figure emerged from the gloom, and going towards the sleepers, awakened two of them.
"Changing sentries," soliloquised Jack. "They are not our fellows—Boers, without a doubt."
And Boers they were. Jack had stumbled across a patrol of the enemy, and a fear of again falling into their hands crept across his mind.
Fear soon gave way to certainty, for one of the lately aroused Boers—a thick-set, unwieldy man—came stalking towards the place where Jack was lying.
A Mauser rifle reposed in the hollow of the Boer's left arm, and gleams of light played on the barrel.
The Dutchman nearly stepped upon Jack, before he saw our hero; then bringing his rifle to the present, the Boer cried, "Who goes there? Speak, or I'll fire!" This was said in deep guttural Dutch, and the next moment Jack found himself again a prisoner.
Our hero felt thankful that he had not fallen into the hands of Transvaalers, who, justly or unjustly, bore a shady reputation for cruelty.
"Who and what are you?" demanded the Boer. "A rooinek?" The tones of the Free Stater were not unkind.
"Are there any more of you?" the sentry continued, glancing warily around.
"I am alone," replied Jack, who when he saw the Boer advancing towards him, threw his revolver away.
"Alone?" said the Boer. "And why are you prowling about here at this time of the night? You speak our language well. Are you one of us, or what?"
Jack made no reply, and the Boer commanded him to move towards the camp-fire, bringing up the rear.
Here the Boer roused up a man, dressed in somewhat superior clothing to his fellows, and whom he addressed as Veldt-cornet.
"A prisoner, Veldt-cornet," said the Boer.
The officer rubbed his eyes and said somewhat sleepily, "A rooinek, Maartens?"
"He is an Englishman, I think, Veldt-cornet," answered the Boer; but no amount of questioning could elicit from Jack his proper name and place of residence. If this were part of Christian Uys's commando, his identity would soon be discovered, and then good-bye to life itself.
"Keep an eye on him, Maartens," said the veldt-cornet, with a yawn; and the officer rolling himself up in his blanket, sank back on the veldt, and was soon wrapped in a profound slumber.
The fire was now burning low—a lucky circumstance for Jack Lovat, or his wounded condition would have been seen, and unwelcome inquiries made.
"Lie down and rest, youngster," said the Boer sentry; and Jack obeyed.
Our hero's mind was now running on horses, but that another chance of escape would present itself seemed impossible.
Dawn would soon break, and he knew that if the other portion of Christian Uys's commando should come up, all would be over, and a Mauser bullet would end his cares and sufferings.
Several of the Boers were awake and glancing at Jack with looks of wonderment. Their curiosity, however, had evidently been appeased by Maartens, and seated round the smouldering embers of the fire, they began to converse in low whispers, and Jack overheard such words as "drift," "kloof," and "schantze"; and when the words "New Zealanders" were pronounced he knew that the patrol were on the look-out for the Auckland Rangers.
The cold was intense, and Jack began to shiver violently. One of the Boers seeing this, kindly handed our hero a blanket and told him to make himself comfortable.
An hour before dawn the whole party were astir, and the grateful aroma of freshly made coffee filled Jack's nostrils.
Additional fires had been lighted, and over these several Boers were busily engaged in grilling strips of biltong.
Jack's appetite for the moment had left him, and he turned away from the roughly cooked beef which was offered him. The odour was nauseating to Jack's hypersensitive olfactory nerves.
He did not, however, refuse the coffee, which imparted a welcome warmth to his chilled frame.
The veldt-cornet was wide enough awake now, and after the hastily prepared meal had been discussed, he turned to Jack, whom he cross-examined very closely.
"You come from this neighbourhood?" queried the veldt-cornet.
Jack shook his head; and the Boer officer went on—
"Have you been serving against us in the field?"
"I am not a soldier," answered Jack. "I am a settler's son. All that we desire is peace; we want nothing more."
The veldt-cornet laughed as he said, "There will soon be peace, boy, when all the rooineks have been kicked into the sea. You are wounded, I see. Where did you receive your wound? In a fight?"
"It is nothing—a mere scratch I managed to get in an accident," replied Jack, assuming a cheerful air.
"Then you will join us, youngster?" queried the Boer leader.
"I would rather be excused," answered Jack. "I want to get to Springbokfontein."
"You will reach there in good time," said the veldt-cornet. "In the interval you might do worse than see a little service under the vierkeleur. What say you? We can give you a mount and a rifle. Maartens, how are we off for horses?"
Maartens shrugged his shoulders as he replied, "We have a couple of led horses, Veldt-cornet, the roan mare, and the young horse."
"Then let him take the roan," observed the officer.
"By the way, youngster," he continued, "have you seen anything of a troop of rooineks—New Zealanders—in the district?"
"I understand that some are in this part of the country," answered Jack.
"Well, if you will go along with us, you shall see them before long," said the veldt-cornet. "We want to catch a fellow named Morton. The commandant will give a thousand pounds for the fellow, dead or alive."
Jack laughed to himself as he thought of the New Zealander's narrow escape, and wondered what the latter was doing, and whether he had made good his escape from the Diamond Valley or not.
"You know Springbokfontein, I suppose?" asked the Boer officer, after a pause.
"I have been there several times," was Jack's reply.
"Is the place strongly guarded?" queried the veldt-cornet, who was a namesake and relative of President Steyn.
"You ask me a question that I cannot answer," replied Jack. "There is certainly a town guard, but whether they are any good or not is more than I can say. However, you had better try your luck against the town."
"That is just what we are going to do, after we get hold of these New Zealanders. You know the Bank at Springbokfontein?" queried Steyn.
"I know very little about banks," answered Jack somewhat brusquely; and then he nearly made an ass of himself by blurting out the fact that his father had been robbed of five hundred pounds intended for deposit in the bank under discussion.
"It is said that a hundred thousand sovereigns are reposing in the Bank," said the veldt-cornet, with a laugh, "mostly belonging to the people who asked us to come to their help and then showed the white feather."
"White flag, did you say?" asked Jack grimly. "I thought only Boers were addicted to that practice."
"Have a care, youngster," said Steyn warningly, as he tapped the butt end of his rifle with a meaning glance in his eyes. "It is the rooineks, not Free Staters or Transvaalers."
Jack felt that metaphorically speaking he was putting his foot in it, and intimated he was only having a joke.
"A delicate subject to joke about, youngster," observed Steyn. "You know the countryside?" he added.
"Not this immediate neighbourhood," replied Jack.
"And what takes you so far from home?" queried the veldt-cornet.
"We settlers hunt sometimes," suggested Jack.
"But not without weapons. Where is your rifle?" demanded Steyn.
"The country is under martial law," replied Jack.
"The rooineks' law," sneered Steyn.
"As you say," observed Jack diplomatically.
"You mean that you have lost or mislaid your rifle?" queried Steyn.
"I had an adventure with lions," said Jack. "I——" Our hero hesitated, and then added, "I will join you."
"Spoken like a man!" cried the veldt-cornet. "Maartens, the roan mare and a Mauser for the youngster, before he changes his mind."
"The mare is quiet, I trust?" asked Jack.
"You shall try her. See, it is nearing daybreak. At sunrise you shall satisfy yourself as to your mount."
The sounds of clattering hoofs arrested the officer's attention, and a Boer presently rode up.
"The veldt-cornet?" inquired the new-comer.
"I am here," said Steyn. "You have ridden over from the commandant, Du Plessis?"
"I have ridden on the spur, Veldt-cornet," answered the Boer. "Du Boisson was stabbed last night by a young rooinek whom we caught yesterday, just as you marched out of camp. The rooinek has escaped, and——"
"He is here," said Steyn, and he looked round for Jack; but the ostrich farmer's son was already on the roan mare's back and scudding like the wind down the donga.
"The devil!" cried Steyn. "No, don't shoot; it might bring a hornet's nest around our ears. He has gone in an opposite direction to that from which we expect the New Zealanders. Maartens, you were too premature in bringing the mare;" and Maartens had the good sense to look abashed.
"He is the rooinek who killed Du Boisson," said Du Plessis. "Van Donnop knows him well. He is the son of an ostrich farmer named Lovat."
"The man from whom the five hundred sovereigns were taken?" exclaimed Steyn excitedly.
"The same, Veldt-cornet," replied the Boer scout.
"And it was at this brat's father's farm where some of our men were repulsed only two nights ago," said Steyn, with growing excitement. "I wish Maartens had shot him as he lay on the veldt."
"I had rather he belonged to us, Veldt-cornet," observed Maartens. "He is a slim youth, and, if his heart had been in the right place, would have been of great service to the cause."
"Yes, maybe, Maartens," growled the officer. "Now that he has got away, he will alarm the whole country."
"Van Donnop says that the New Zealanders will come this way," said Maartens, pointing to the upper end of the donga. "The rooinek must move on his left flank, as the country is very broken and cut up. However, you will see. We shall catch them in a trap, and then march straight for Springbokfontein and Port Nolloth. I am quite right."
"You always had good sense, Maartens; but if we catch this young Lovat, a bullet will be too good for him; a piece of stout rope and a tree—the aasvogel shall do the rest. The men have all breakfasted?"
"All have had coffee and biltong, Veldt-cornet," answered Maartens, who was acting as second in command of the patrol, which as things went, might have been termed a reconnaissance in force.
Let us follow the fortunes of Jack Lovat, the daring boy-fighter of the Kopje Farm.
While the veldt-cornet was talking to Burgher Du Plessis, Maartens brought up the roan mare, and acting on the spur of the moment, Jack, while pretending to examine the horse's head-gear, sprang on its back, and as narrated, sped like the wind to the other end of the donga.
His breath came hard and fast, and every moment he expected being struck by a bullet. He wondered what the sensation would be like if a missile hit him, but luckily he was spared the experience.
No sooner did he reach the entrance to the donga than something seemed to whisper to him, "You must keep to the left, for there lie home and safety."
The mare was a gallant one, and full of mettle, for with long strides she rushed gamely forward, widening the gap between Jack and her late owner.
The ostrich farmer's son never drew rein until a couple of miles distant from the Boer laager, when he eased up, and after glancing round, dismounted—taking care to retain a firm grasp on the reins.
"Thank Heaven, I am free once more," said Jack to himself. "And now for the Kopje Farm!"
Several landmarks seemed familiar to him. One of the kopjes he remembered as being a spot much favoured by baboons, ugly grinning apes that lived in the caves with which the kopje abounded.
The Kopje Farm he knew lay some few miles to the south of the hill, so he moved forward towards a donga which skirted the right base of the kopje.
His attention was arrested by a sight which sent the blood rushing to his heart, causing a choking sensation that almost stifled him.
About a mile distant he discerned a troop of mounted men advancing in his direction.
"They are Boers!" ejaculated Jack aloud. "I've escaped from one fire only to fall into another."
He was in the middle of the donga when he first caught sight of the strangers who were advancing over the open veldt.
Jack watched the progress of the horsemen, who suddenly halted.
Evidently a fresh order had been given, for presently they wheeled to the right and moved on in an oblique direction.
"They are going straight towards Langeman's Nek," thought Jack; but his quick eyes detected something he had not seen before.
"They are our fellows!" cried he,—"the Auckland Rangers. I know them by the feathers in their slouch-hats;" and without more ado he rode forward, and clearing the donga, galloped forward at full speed in the direction of the horsemen.