The other man boldly stood his ground, and, rising in his stirrup, took a deliberate aim and sent a bullet swishing so close past Jack’s head that it cut his ear. Before he could repeat the shot Jack was on him, and had thrust his bayonet through him and swept him off his saddle.
After that there was a quarter of an hour of the wildest excitement. Tearing madly forward, his pony leapt everything that came in its path and soon outdistanced the pursuers, who had halted at the fringe of bush and were now sending volleys after him. But horse and rider seemed to bear a charmed life, till an unlucky bullet struck the plucky little animal and caused it to fall. Jack went flying some yards ahead into a thick mimosa bush, which broke his fall, and, extricating himself and picking up his rifle, darted off. Showers of bullets followed him, but by bending low he escaped them all, and an hour later was in the heart of the bush and safe from the pursuing Boers. By that time he was thoroughly exhausted. He threw himself panting on the ground and remained motionless for a long time. Then he rose to his feet once more and set off in the direction of Mafeking.
All that night he trudged on, and spent the following day beneath the shade of a friendly thorn bush. Then he started again, and reached his destination just as the next day was dawning. Footsore and weary, he staggered up to one of the pickets, and, hastily answering his hail of “Who goes there?” with “Friend”, snatched at the man’s water-bottle and greedily gulped down the contents. Then, feeling stronger and more refreshed, he limped on into the town and handed his despatches to the redoubtable Baden-Powell, who welcomed him heartily.
Chapter Twelve.
Gallant Mafeking!
Had he been the bearer of the most eagerly-looked-for news, Jack could not have received a more enthusiastic welcome than he obtained from the gallant little garrison of Mafeking. As he staggered into the town, hot, dusty, and dishevelled, and worn out with his long tramp, a horn was sounded, and hosts of men flocked towards him, and, gathering in a circle round him, listened while Colonel Baden-Powell—affectionately known as B.-P. by his men—questioned him.
A stiff glass of brandy made him feel quite fresh again, and, sitting down on a box at the colonel’s invitation, Jack detailed his news and delivered his despatch. That done, he was hurried off by a number of the town volunteers to an underground cell built close behind a parapet of sand-bags, and there given a couple of blankets to lie on. He was tired out by his long march, and in a few moments was asleep.
When he woke again the afternoon was far advanced. Rising from his bed, he crawled out of the cell and found a young fellow busily tending some pans suspended over a blazing fire.