“Yes,” growled the first speaker. “Silence, there! Halt!”
The men reined up in a group, while the first man, who seemed to be in command, dragged out a much-battered field-glass, focussed it, and tried to fix the distant objects. But his horse was fresh and fidgety, waiting to be off.
“Stand still!” cried the Boer savagely, and he caught up the reins he had dropped on the neck of his mount and gave them a savage jerk which made the unfortunate animal plunge, sending the rest into disorder, so that it was another minute before steadiness was restored.—“Mind what you’re about, there,” cried the leader. “Keep close to the bushes. Do you want to be seen?”
He raised his glasses to his eyes again for a few seconds, closed them, and thrust them back into their case.
“There’s too much haze there,” he said. “Can’t see, but I feel sure they’re some of our ponies grazing.”
“Going to round them up and take them back with us?”
“I would if I was sure,” was the reply, “but after yesterday’s work we can’t afford to run risks. Curse them! They’ve got enough of our stores to keep them alive for another month.”
Every man was gazing away into the distance, little suspecting that only a few yards away four magazine-rifles were covering them, and that at a word they would begin to void their charges, with the result that at least half-a-dozen of them, perhaps more, would drop from their saddles, possibly never to rise again. And all this while the little British party crouched there with, to use the untrue familiar expression, their hearts in their mouths, watching their enemies, but stealing a glance from time to time at the shadowy spot beneath the thick bush, wondering one and all what the young lieutenant would say next.
“He must give the order to fire,” said the sergeant to himself as he covered the leader. “We shall have Mr Lennox speaking out louder directly and asking where he is.”
The sergeant was quite right, for all of a sudden Lennox exclaimed: