“Morning coming fast!” said West.
“The sooner the better,” was the reply; “for I’m not sure that we are going right.”
“I’m sure we’re going wrong,” said West quickly.
“Why?”
“Because we are going straight for that great wagon laager.”
“Yes; there’s Mafeking, with its corrugated-iron roofs, off to our right.”
“Hah!” ejaculated West, for at that moment there was a flash from the front of the laager they were approaching, followed by a tremendous roar and a hissing sound overhead, as a shell winged its way towards the town, whose outskirts were certainly not more than a couple of miles away.
“We’ve wasted ever so much strength,” said Ingleborough; “but never mind: we know exactly where we are. It’s about two miles’ run to the nearest houses. What do you say—go on crawling, or make a dash?”
“It will be broad daylight directly,” replied West, “then we shall be discovered, and become the mark for every rifle within range. I say let’s get up and walk steadily on till we see that we are discovered, and then run for our lives.”
“Wait a moment! Do you know how we shall find out that we are discovered?”