“No,” cried West, enjoying the motion as much as the ponies. “This is delightful after all that slow walking; but we had better turn back when we have seen what those fellows are about! Now, what did the Boer say?”
“Said he had always heard we were cowards at Majuba; now he knew for himself.”
“The insolent hound!” cried West. “What did our officer say?”
“That it was lucky for the Boer that he was a prisoner, for if he had been free he would have tasted a flogging from the flat of a sabre. But hullo! where are our men?” cried Ingleborough, as they reached the crown of the low ridge and looked down at a strip of open veldt, beyond which was another ridge.
“Gone over there!” said West quietly. “They must have galloped!”
“Shall we follow, and come back with them?” said Ingleborough.
“We may as well,” was the reply; “they must be trying to cut off some of the Boers.”
“Or going in for a charge to scatter them, for we want no more prisoners. Come on, then; I should like to see the charge!”
The ponies seemed to share their desire, for, answering a slight pressure on their flanks, they spread out and went down the slight slope like greyhounds, avoiding as if by instinct the holes and stones with which the veldt was dotted away in front.
“Steady, steady!” cried West. “We don’t want to overdo it!”