“Stop, stop!” shouted West. “You only scare the brute more.”
“Right!” said Ingleborough sadly, and he stopped short and began to return. “There!” he cried, as West sprang into his saddle; “you have the despatch. Off with you through that opening! I won’t hinder you! I’ll turn prisoner again for a change.”
“Lay hold of my pony’s tail and run! I’ll keep him to a canter, and change with you as soon as you’re tired!” said West, scanning the opening between the end of the Boer line and the party of horsemen away to his left who were making straight for them, lying towards the middle of the line, where the big guns were being dragged along.
“No good!” said Ingleborough. “Off with you, and save your despatch!”
“Can’t leave you, old fellow! Do as I tell you!” cried West. “Hook on!”
“I will not! They won’t kill me if I throw up my hands! Save your despatch if you can!”
“Obey orders, sir!” roared West fiercely, “and don’t waste time! I’m going to trot after your mount, and he’ll join us.”
“Hah! Bravo, sharp brains!” cried Ingleborough excitedly, and twisting the long thick hair of the pony’s tail about his left hand he ran lightly after his companion, the pony West rode uttering a shrill neigh as they went off, which made the other stop, cock up its ears, answer, and come galloping after them, so eager to join its fellow that it brushed close past Ingleborough, who caught the rein without trouble.
“Right!” he shouted, and the next minute he was in the saddle, with the ponies cantering along side by side.
“More to the left!” cried West. “The Boers are bearing away to cut us off!”