“Of course not,” shouted Ingleborough; “but my word, what delicious air, and what a place for a gallop! I should like to see a herd of antelope appear on that ridge to the left. I should be obliged to go after them; we might get one for the officers’ mess.”
“There they are, then!” cried West.
“Where?” said Ingleborough.
“Coming over that continuation of the ridge a mile away to the left. No: mounted men! Ingle, old chap,” cried West excitedly, “they’re the party our men have cut off! They’ve headed them, and they’re trying to escape by this opening!”
“By jingo! No!” cried Ingleborough. “Our men have gone off to the right, I believe, and those Boers have seen us. Noll, old fellow, we’ve come a bit too far. Steady! Right turn! Now off and away, or somebody else will be cut off or shot; perhaps both of us, for we’re in for it once more.”
“Oh no,” said West coolly; “be steady, and we’ll show the Boers how English fellows ride!”
“Yes, but hang it all! It’s showing the beggars how we ride away.”
“Never mind; we must ride for the convoy.”
“But we can’t,” cried Ingleborough savagely; “there’s another party cutting us off.”
“Forward then over the ridge in front! Our fellows must have gone over there.”