“Here, quick, lad!” whispered Ingleborough, swinging round. “We’re attacked from behind!”
West followed his example, feeling fully convinced that the Boers had after all seen them seek refuge in the cavern, and had taken advantage of their knowledge of the place to creep through some tunnel which led in from the other side, for there was a strange scuffling and rustling sound a little way in, where it was quite dark. With rifles pointed towards the spot and with fingers on triggers, the two friends waited anxiously for some further development, so as to avoid firing blindly into the cavern without injury to the enemy while leaving themselves unloaded when their foes rushed on.
“Can’t be Boers!” said Ingleborough, at the end of a minute, during which the noise went on; “it’s wild beasts of some kind.”
“Lions,” suggested West.
“Oh no; they’d go about as softly as cats! More like a pack of hyaenas trying to get up their courage for a charge!”
“If we fired and stood on one side they’d rush out!” replied West.
“Yes,” said Ingleborough grimly; “and the Boers would rush in to see what was the matter. That wouldn’t do, for it’s evident that they don’t know we’re here.”
“But we must do something, or they’ll injure the horses! Why!” cried West excitedly; “it must be that they’ve pulled the poor beasts down and are devouring them.”
“Without our little Basutos making a kick for life? Nonsense! They’d squeal and kick and rush out. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”
To West’s astonishment his companion burst into a prolonged fit of gentle laughter.