Part 23 (2/2)
”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 circ.u.mstances don't you think it's time for the lambs--meaning us--to turn upon the butchers--meaning the Boers--and let _them_ feed 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 impa.s.sable 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.
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