West had involuntarily dropped on all-fours as Ingleborough spoke, and none too soon, for another dozen bullets came rattling over them, cutting the twigs and spattering amongst the rocks, while several passed close to them with a buzzing sound.
“There!” cried Ingleborough the next minute. “No question now about what we’re going to do. Here’s our fort; there’s plenty of water; and the Boers have shot our provisions ready for us. We must cut some of the meat up for biltong, and eat as much as we can while the rest of it is fresh.”
“For heaven’s sake don’t talk of eating!” cried West. “Look here: let’s creep along through the cover and try and get away.”
“On foot, followed by mounted men? No good; we should be pumped out in less than a couple of hours!”
“Then let’s make the brutes pay dearly for what they’ve done!” cried West angrily. “Now Ingle, let’s prove to them that we can use our rifles too! I’m going to shoot every horse I can.”
“Very well: so am I; and if that does not beat them off I’m going to bring down man after man till the rest of them run for their lives. Got a good place?”
“Yes,” said West, whose rifle-barrel rested in a crack between two stones.
“Then fire away; but don’t waste a shot!”
“Trust me!” cried West grimly. “Now then, fire; and remember the despatch!”
He took careful aim as he spoke, and drew trigger, with the result that one of the Boer ponies stopped short, spun round, flung its rider, and galloped madly away.