“We must keep on firing at them,” said Lennox; “but keep your shots for those who are highest up there among the trees.”
He set the example as he spoke, firing, after taking a long and careful aim, at a big-bearded fellow who had crawled some distance to his right so as to try and take the pair in the flank. The Boer had reached his fresh position by making a rush, and his first shot struck the stones close to Drew’s face, sending one up to inflict a stinging blow on the cheek, while in the ricochet it went whizzing by Dickenson’s shoulder, making him start and utter an angry ejaculation, for he had again exposed himself.
“Wish I could break myself off bad habits,” he muttered, as a little shower of bullets came whizzing about them, but too late to harm.
There was a certain amount of annoyance in his tones, for he noted that, while he had started up a little, his companion, in spite of the stinging blow he had received on the cheek, lay perfectly motionless upon his chest, waiting his time, finger on trigger, and ready to give it a gentle pressure when he had ceased to aim at one particular spot where he had seen the Boer’s head for a moment.
He did not have long to wait; for the moment the Boer had fired he slightly raised his head to try and mark the effect of his shot.
That was sufficient. Lennox squeezed rather than pulled the trigger, and as the smoke rose the bush which had sheltered the Boer moved violently for a few moments, and all was still there; while the young officer quickly reloaded and waited to see if another man took his enemy’s place.