The men gave a hearty cheer.
“I’m sorry for the poor ponies,” he said, “for I think this range will be well within the power of the service arm.”
“Yes, sir, quite,” said the sergeant promptly.
Dickenson was silent once again, and they saw him taking a long, careful aim at the nearest Boer. The effect of his shot was that the pony he had aimed at sprang forward, leaving a Boer visible, facing them in astonishment before he turned to run.
“Fire!” said Dickenson, and three shots followed almost instantaneously, while the running Boer was seen lying upon the earth.
“Be ready!” said Dickenson, aiming now at another of the ponies, and paying no heed to six or seven replies from the exasperated Boers.
The pony now fired at reared up, and in the clear sunshine the man who was aiming across it was seen to be crushed down by the poor animal’s fall, and he did not rise again.
Once more Dickenson’s rifle rang out, and he shifted it back now to his right, to fire his fourth shot almost without aiming. As the smoke cleared away by the time the young officer had replaced the exploded cartridges, one pony could be seen struggling on the ground, another was galloping away, while two men were crawling backward on hands and knees.
“It seems like butchery, sergeant,” said Dickenson, taking another long aim before firing again. “Missed!”
“No, sir: I saw the pony start,” said the sergeant eagerly. “There, look at him!”