The Boer fixed him with his eyes, noted his pallid face and the blood trickling down from the cut caused by his fall, and then, as if satisfied and moved by a feeling akin to compassion, he nodded his head, thrust the cake and the sandwich-like papers back into West’s haversack, and let it swing again under the young man’s arm.
“Lucky for them we’re not hungry!” he said, in his own tongue, “or we shouldn’t have left them much.”
“Why don’t you make them eat it?” cried the man who had fired. “For aught we know, it may be poisoned.”
“Bah!” cried their friend, who had done the pair so good a turn; “let them be!”
A couple of the Boers then approached with reins, but, in spite of the opposition that had taken place, the man who had taken West’s part again interfered, just as they proceeded to raise Ingleborough to bind his hands behind his back.
“There is no need!” said the man sharply. “Can’t you see that he is too weak to stand? Help him upon his horse, and one go on either side to keep him in the saddle.”
Then turning to West, he continued: “Mount; but you will be shot down directly if you attempt to escape.”
“I am not going to leave my friend,” said West coldly. “I could have galloped away had I wanted to. Let me walk by his side to help him.”
The man looked at the speaker searchingly and then nodded, West taking the place of one of the Boers, who placed himself just behind him with rifle ready. Then the little party moved off towards the kopje where the prisoners had been surprised.