He had hardly spoken when a sharp challenge in Boer-Dutch rang out, apparently from about fifty yards to their left, and, as if in obedience to the demand, the two Basuto ponies the young men rode stopped suddenly.
Ingleborough leaned down sidewise and placed his lips close to his companion’s ear.
“Which is it to be?” he said. “One is as easy as the other—forward or back?”
“One’s as safe as the other,” replied West, under his breath. “Forward.”
They were in the act of pressing their horses’ sides to urge them on when there was a flash of light from the position of the man who had uttered the challenge, and almost immediately the humming, buzzing sound as of a large beetle whizzing by them in its nocturnal flight, and at the same moment there was the sharp crack of a rifle.
Chapter Ten.
Anson’s Blessing.
“Bless ’em!” said Anson to himself that same evening, “I don’t wish ’em any harm. I only hope that before they’ve gone far the Boers will challenge them.