“Only this,” replied West; “I’ve been thinking that if we can get a hundred yards’ clear start, and then strike off to right or left, we can laugh at pursuit, for they will have lost sight of us and will not know which way to pursue.”
“Yes, that’s right enough, but how are you going to get your hundred yards’ start?”
“I’ll tell you how I think it can be done,” and, bending over towards his companion, West mumbled out a few words in the darkness and Ingleborough listened and uttered a low grunt as soon as his friend had finished.
Then there was utter silence, broken only by the dull clattering sound of the horses’ hoofs upon the soft dusty earth, West listening the while in the black darkness till he heard Ingleborough upon his left make a rustling noise caused by the bringing round and unslinging of his rifle, followed by the loading and then the softly cocking of the piece.
“Ready?” said Ingleborough, at last.
“Yes,” was the reply.
“Then one—two—three—and away!” said Ingleborough softly.
At the first word West began to bear upon his horse’s rein, drawing its head round to the right, and at the last he drove his heels sharply into the pony’s flanks and wrenched its head round so suddenly that the startled little beast made a tremendous bound off towards the open veldt, its sudden action having a stunning and confusing effect upon the line of Boers.
“Hi! stop!” roared Ingleborough directly, shouting in the Boer-Dutch tongue, while as West tore on his companion stood up in his stirrups, fired two shots after him in succession, and then with another shout he set spurs to his pony and dashed off as fast as his mount would go.
The fugitives plunged one after the other into the darkness on the little column’s flank, and the burghers saw them for a few moments ere they disappeared and their ponies’ hoofs began to sound dull before they recovered from the stupor of astonishment the suddenness of the incident had caused.