“Or a hundred other things,” cried West angrily, as they tore along at full gallop now, with the bullets flying round them.
“Don’t begin to prophesy evil! I say we’re going to leave the Boers far behind and escape.”
“I can’t look at our chance in the same flowery light as you do, my boy,” replied Ingleborough. “My breakfast wasn’t good enough to inspire me with so much hope, and I should advise you to open your haversack.”
“Nonsense! I could not eat now!”
“But you must be ready to if you don’t begin, my lad. My advice is that you get ready to eat those sandwiches, for you mustn’t let the good verbal meat inside get into the enemy’s hands.”
Ingleborough had hardly spoken before his horse suddenly checked, throwing him forward upon its neck and nearly sending him off. But he clung to it desperately, while the poor beast’s next act was to rear up, pawing hard at the air. In spite of the difficulty, Ingleborough shuffled himself back into the saddle, speaking encouraging words to the shivering animal, which kept on pawing at the air for a few moments and just gave its rider time to throw himself off sidewise before it went right over backwards, struck out with all four legs in the air, and then subsided—motionless.
West drew rein instantly as he tore by, and cantered back, reckless of the whistling bullets which were flying around.
“Beg their pardon!” cried Ingleborough, struggling to his feet after a heavy fall. “I retract my words.”
“Hurt?” cried West excitedly.
“Rather! Ground is pretty hard!”