Chapter Twenty.
The Road to Victory.
The month of January was just drawing to a close when Jack on-saddled in the market square of Mafeking, now almost battered out of all recognition by the tremendous and continuous shell fire to which it had been so long subjected, and, vaulting into his seat, settled his rifle across his shoulders, strapped on the water-sack which dangled on one aide, carrying a supply sufficient to last until he reached the Modder River, and, picking up the reins, trotted across the open space.
Quite a crowd had collected to see him off and wave him an adieu, and many a message was entrusted to him, and many a “So long, Jack, old horse!” followed him. Soon he was at the outskirts, where he passed the pickets, and pushed on, searching the ground in every direction with eyes which were now as sharp as a hawk’s. Once he almost stumbled on a Boer advanced picket lying on a small kopje, but a crouching figure and a big hat dimly silhouetted against the star-lit sky warned him, and in an instant he and his pony were lying prone upon the veldt.
“Wie gaat daar?” came in hoarse tones across to him, but he lay like a log, without answering; nor did he take any notice when a rifle flashed and a bullet buzzed some yards above him.
“I’ll lie where I am,” he thought. “They did not catch sight of me, but probably heard some suspicious sound. I’ll give them half an hour to clear away, and if they are not gone by then I’ll make a bolt for it.”
But there was no necessity for this, for suddenly the long naval smooth-bore gun now used in Mafeking belched out its home-made shell, and the picket lying in front of him rose to their feet and looked back at their own camp, where, a moment later, a dull, muttering roar and a brilliant spurt of flame showed that the missile had exploded.
In an instant Jack was on his pony again, and, turning slightly to the left, galloped away at his fastest pace. All that night he kept on steadily, and at daybreak hid up in a patch of mimosa bush.
By the following morning he was nearing the Modder River, and was on the point of concealing himself again when he caught sight of a figure some three hundred yards in front of him.