By this time the convoy of stores was close at hand, creeping slowly along the road, for many of the teams were composed of oxen, and were consequently incapable of covering much more than two miles in an hour. There were a few minutes of suspense, and then the mules which were leading filed past Jack and his friend like so many ghosts, followed by a lumbering, creaking wagon which groaned and rattled at every inequality in the road.
Jack pressed Poynter’s arm, and instantly both rose from the ground and darted towards the vehicle. With a spring Jack landed upon the driving-board, and, diving beneath the apron of the tent, crawled on to the top of a pile of mealie bags. Suddenly his hand fell upon the face of someone who was lying stretched fast asleep on top of the bags, and set his heart thumping heavily with the shock. A second later he had clapped his other hand over the sleeper’s mouth, and called gently to his comrade to help him. But long before Poynter had grasped the awkward situation, Jack and the stranger were engaged in a desperate struggle, the former with both hands clasped across the man’s mouth, and the Boer—for such he proved to be—endeavouring to clutch Jack by the throat. A moment later Poynter had come to the rescue, and long before the line of the enemy’s fires was reached the sleepy burgher was bound hand and foot with cords taken from the mealie bags, while Jack’s handkerchief was secured in his mouth. Then he was lifted to one side, with Poynter in attendance, while Jack stretched himself full-length upon the bags, and peeped out through the opening in the tent.
It seemed an age before the sentry was reached, but suddenly the same foreign voice as before called out: “Who goes there?”
Jack waited a moment, and as the Kafir driver in charge of the team of mules did not answer, he guessed that the Boer he had discovered asleep upon the mealies was intended to give the pass-word.
“Convoy for Colenso!” he called out in a sleepy voice. “Give the pass-word!” replied the sentry, lifting a lantern and flashing the light upon the wagon.
“‘Kruger’,” Jack called out in a still more sleepy voice, and as if he were just stifling a yawn.
“Pass, convoy; all’s well!” the sentry exclaimed, and a minute later the wagon rumbled by him, and the man in charge of the next was heard giving the pass-word.
“Thank goodness that’s over!” whispered Jack, slipping back to Poynter’s side. “Now, we have nothing more to do but to keep this fellow quiet and wait.”
“And what then!” asked Poynter, with a chuckle. “What are we going to do?”
“You said you’d stick by me through thick and thin,” Jack replied, “and by Jove, I’m not only going to get through to Buller with General White’s despatches, but I’ll take this wagon with me. Are you ready for the job?”