Chapter Four.
Ways and Means.
“Here, what in the name of wonder!” cried Dickenson angrily. “Yah! Keep those horns quiet, you beast.”
“What is it?” cried Lennox excitedly.
“Roast-beef, sir—leastwise to-morrow, sir,” cried one of the men. “We’ve bay’neted a team of oxen.”
“Speak the truth, lad,” cried another from Lennox’s left. “We’ve been giving point in a gun-carriage.”
“Silence in the ranks!” cried Lennox sternly as he felt about in the darkness, joined now by his comrade, and found that their charge had been checked by a big gun, its limber, and the span—six or eight and twenty oxen—several of the poor beasts having received thrusts from the men’s bayonets.
It was a strange breastwork to act as a protection, but from behind its shelter a couple of volleys were sent in the direction of the flashes of light which indicated the whereabouts of the enemy, and this made them continue their flight, the surprise having been too great for their nerves; while the right interpretation was placed upon the adventure at once—to wit, that in ignorance of the fact that Colonel Lindley had done in the darkness exactly what might have been expected, and occupied the kopje, the Boers had brought up a heavy gun with the intention of mounting it before morning, and had failed.
“What’s to be the next?” said Dickenson.