“Come forward,” cried Lennox, “and give up your piece.”
He stepped towards the spot from whence the voice had come, to see the crossing lights of the two lanterns centre upon the broad, familiar face of one of the Boers who had been captured, and who had returned with the loaded wagons and the
powder-bags, of which the last portion had been secured a short time before.
The man halted, and stood with his rifle presented at the young officer’s breast.
“One man can’t fight against a hundred,” he growled.
“Only with treachery and deceit,” said Lennox sternly. “Give up your rifle, you cowardly dog.”
“Not till you give your English word that I shall not be shot,” replied the Boer.
“I’ll give the order for you to be shot down if you don’t give up your piece,” cried Lennox angrily.
“You give the word that I shall only be a prisoner, or I’ll shoot you through the heart,” cried the Boer harshly.