“Did you hear anyone coming?” whispered West.
“No, but they must have heard our ponies and be coming on,” was the reply.
“Let them come; we can keep the whole gang at bay from here!”
But five minutes’ watching and listening proved that they had not been heard, for the Boers were too busy watering their horses, the voices of the men and the splashings and tramplings of the beasts coming in reverberations right along the natural speaking-tube, to strike clearly upon the listeners’ ears.
Three several times the fugitives stood on guard with rifles cocked, ready to make a determined effort to defend their post of vantage, for the voices came nearer and nearer, and splashing sounds indicated movements out towards the mouth of the ravine; but just when their nerves were strained to the utmost, and they watched with starting eyes a corner round which the enemy would have to turn to bring them within range, the talking and splashing died out, and they simultaneously uttered a sigh of relief.
“I couldn’t bear much of this, Ingle,” said West, at last. “I half think that I would rather have them come on so that we could get into the excitement of a fight.”
“I don’t half think so, lad; I do quite,” replied Ingleborough.
“But you don’t want to fight?”
“Of course not; I don’t want to feel that I’ve killed anybody; but at the same time I’d rather kill several Boers than they should kill me. However, I hope they will not attack us, for if they do I mean to shoot as straight as I can and as often as is necessary. What do you say?”
West was silent for a few moments, during which he seemed to be thinking out the position. At last he spoke: “I have never given the Boers any reason for trying to destroy my life, my only crime being that I am English. So, as life is very sweet and I want to live as long as I can, I shall do as you do till they get disheartened, for I don’t see how they can get at us, and—”