No more was said till the bottom of the kopje was nearly reached, and at a word from the sergeant the men went off left incline down and down and in and out among the loose blocks of weathered and lichen-covered stone which had fallen from the precipices above, while, as glimpses kept appearing of the flashing, dancing water, the men began to increase their pace, till the two foremost leaped down from rock to rock, and one who had outpaced his comrade bounded down out of sight into the deep gully along which the limpid water ran.
“Oh!” exclaimed Dickenson, suddenly stopping short with his face distorted by a look of agony.
“What’s the matter?” cried the captain anxiously. “Taken bad?”
“No, no. The men!” said the young officer huskily. “The water—the men are going to drink. That place in the cavern—it is, of course, where Groenfontein rises.”
“Yes, of course,” replied the captain; “but it is too late now.”
He had hardly uttered the words before there was a yell of horror which made him stop short, for the foremost man came clambering back into sight, gesticulating, and they could see that he looked white and scared.
“Oh!” cried the captain. “It will be sauve qui peut! The Boers have surprised us, and the lads have nothing but their side-arms. Got your revolver? I’ve mine. Let’s do the best we can. Cover, my lads, cover.”
“No, no, no!” cried Dickenson in a choking voice. “I can’t help it, Roby. I feel broken down. He has found poor Drew below there, washed out by the stream!”
“Come on,” cried the captain, and in another few moments they were with the men, who were closing round their startled comrade.
“Couldn’t help it,” the poor fellow panted as his officers came within hearing. “I came upon him so sudden; I thought it was a ghost.”