West rose and crept to the end of the wagon and looked out.
“The ponies are still there,” he whispered, and then he started violently, for a voice at the other end of the wagon cried: “Hallo, you two!”
West turned, with his heart sinking, convinced that the man must have heard.
“I’m just off sentry!” the Boer said good-humouredly. “I must have shaved that Kaffir somewhere and not hurt him much. As soon as I was relieved I went and had a good look for him; but there wasn’t so much as a drop of blood.”
“Poor wretch!” thought West.
“Lucky for him!” said Ingleborough, in Dutch.
“But I made the beggar drop the jacket,” said the Boer, laughing; and, to the delight of the prisoners, he sent it flying into the wagon.
That was all, and the sentry strode away, just as West bounded upon the recovered garment like a tiger upon its prey.
“Say bless him!” whispered Ingleborough.
“Oh, Ingle!” groaned his companion, in a choking voice: “I can feel the despatch quite safe.”