shield, and then stab, stab, stab, when he turned upon his feet as if upon a pivot, darting his weapon as if he were some fierce creature armed with a terrible sting. I seemed to see in imagination an enemy go down at every thrust; a strange thrill of horror ran through me, and an awful kind of fascination held me seated there on my horse, as the black warrior stabbed away till his back was completely turned to me and he delivered a tremendous thrust, uttering a horrible yell. Then I burst out into a hysterical peal of laughter, and nearly fell out of the saddle.
Why? Because never was anything more absurd. The warrior’s face was averted, and the long elliptically-shaped shield no longer covered the greater part of his person; and though I had failed in recognition before, I knew him now by the tremendously cut-down trousers he wore.
“Go on, Sandho,” I said, and my horse walked gently forward, while the actor gave three or four more thrusts to kill the rest of the dozen invisible enemies, bringing himself face to face with me; and after leaping high in the air, uttering a triumphant yell, he grinned at me from ear to ear, as he breathlessly cried:
“’At’s a way kill um all, Boss Val.”
For it was Joeboy on the war-path, ready in his own opinion to slay all the Boers in the state.
Chapter Nine.
The Friend In Need.
“Why, Joeboy,” I cried, wiping my eyes, “you’re splendid. But where’s Echo Nek?”