I rode on unwillingly, expecting to hear a furious tirade from my companion, who still held my rein; but he was silent for a few minutes, while the bullets kept on spattering and whizzing about us without hitting any one.
“So you’re tired of soldiering—are you?” said Denham at last.
“Yes,” I said hotly. “I never felt such a coward before.”
“Rubbish! Look here: you want me to expose my little detachment to the fire of that strongly-posted crowd of Boers, and get half of them shot down, so as to try and pick up your servant.”
“No, I don’t,” I replied sharply. “There’s plenty of cover here. I should have got the men behind some of these blocks of stone and returned the fire, so as to keep the enemy in check while I sent two men dismounted to try and bring my man—our guide—in, alive or dead.”
“Humph!” said my companion shortly. “Why, I begin to think you are a better soldier than I am;” and, to my intense surprise, he halted the party behind a huge block which divided our way, dismounted half, and sent them out right and loft to seek cover from whence they could reply to the enemy’s fire. Then he turned to me.
“You must hold two horses,” he said. “I’ll send two fellows to steal up the gap from stone to stone to try and pick up your man.”
“No, no,” I said excitedly. “I’ll go alone.”
“Suppose you find him wounded, or—”
“Dead?” I said, finishing his sentence.