Chapter Seventeen.
A Record Ride.
“Halt!” cried the leader, after they had ridden about a couple of miles at full speed.
The company at once pulled in their well-trained horses and stood stock-still. They had quitted the track, and were now just behind the crest of a kopje, so that their pursuers could not be seen.
“There, lads, change your prison togs for these more befitting rigs-out, and eat some of that tucker while we settle off a few of these accursed Kruger whelps. We have a ride before us which will beat Turpin’s ride to York—for distance, at least—before we can next draw rein.”
His men had dismounted while he was speaking to our heroes, and ran back to the kopje’s crest. They were now resting on their stomachs and taking aim at the approaching Boers.
As he spoke he pointed to a bundle which was fastened to each of their saddles.
“Get into these as fast as you can slip, and put inside you what you find in the centre of each swag. We must be off again within the next five minutes.”
Saying these words rapidly, he left them and the horses, and ran up to join his companions.