"No, except that my leg feels crushed under my horse. I would rather have been wounded myself than have lost him."
"You will have no occasion for him at present," the Boer said; and, calling two or three others to him, they raised the horse sufficiently to be able to drag Yorke out.
"The others are all dead," one of the Boers said. "Some of them got half a dozen bullets through them. This is an officer, isn't it?"
"Yes," Yorke replied, "I am a subaltern in the 9th Lancers, you can see the number on my shoulder-strap; and I carry a field-glass and revolver as well as a rifle."
"What is your name?"
"Yorke Harberton."
"Can you walk?"
"I don't think I can at present," Yorke said, "but I may be able to do so presently."
"That won't do," the man said. "We shall be having some of the cavalry from Graspan on us, as the two men who have got away will ride there with the news. However, we have got spare ponies behind the hill here. Two of you take this youngster, and carry him. I suppose you were not in command here?" he went on, as two men lifted Yorke from the ground and carried him off.
"No, that officer was in command."