West glanced back to his right, and saw the truth of his companion’s words, for the next minute the firing was commenced on both sides, the bullets coming over their heads with their peculiar buzzing sound, and the dusty soil being struck up here and there as the fugitives tore along.
“This will put their shooting to the test!” cried West, leaning forward to pat his pony’s neck.
“Yes; it will puzzle the best of them!” replied Ingleborough. “I’m not afraid of their marksmen, but I am of the flukes. However, we’re in for it! Easy now! We’re getting more and more ahead as they close in. There, those behind are obliged to leave off firing for fear of hitting their friends.”
Ingleborough was right, for after another useless shot or two the firing ceased, and it became a chase where success, barring accidents, would rest with the best and freshest horses.
Knowing this, the fugitives eased their ponies all they could after placing a greater distance between them and their pursuers, but keeping a good look-out ahead and to right and left, knowing full well as they did that the appearance of fresh Boers ahead would be fatal to their progress.
Half an hour glided by, during which first one and then the other glanced back, but always with the same result of seeing that some two or three dozen of the enemy were settled down to a steady pursuit.
“How long do you think they will keep this up?” said West at last.
“Well, if they are French mercenaries they’ll give up directly; if they are Germans they’ll stick to our heels for hours; but if they’re all Free Staters or Transvaal Boers they’ll go on till they drop or we do. The stubborn, obstinate mules never know when they are beaten!”
“Then they’re not French adventurers!” said West.
“Nor yet Germans!” said Ingleborough. “No; we’ve got the genuine Boer after us; and it’s going to be a long chase.”