Our heroes were out of their saddles, and had the bundles unrolled before he had run half a dozen feet. By the time he had taken his place on the kopje-top, they had got the riding pants and boots on, and were buttoning up. In half a moment more they were bracing on their waist-belts and bandoliers, etc., ready for the journey.
Then they opened the saddle-bags and commenced devouring some biltong and biscuit, washing this down with modest sips of cold tea which they found in their water-bottles. Their teeth were sharp and their appetites keen with long fasting, therefore they made the welcome viands disappear as rapidly as they had dressed.
Meantime those on the mound-top were busy. The Boers had galloped up with somewhat rash confidence, thinking that they had unarmed men to cope with. Those in hiding reserved their fire until the Boers were within a hundred yards. Then they fired unanimously, and emptied six saddles.
There were only seven burghers left, and they drew rein in sudden consternation.
Bang! went the second volley, and only one warder was left upright. Without waiting for his quietus, he wheeled about with the utmost promptitude, and raced back to the tronk as fast as his horse could carry him.
They let him go, satisfied with the slaughter they had committed, and, rising, they ran back to their horses and mounted in hot haste.
“It is saddle and spurs now, boys, until we get over the border. This morning’s work will raise the Transvaal. Forward!”
No more was said, but at their utmost speed they set off, and dashed over the country as if doing a race.
Mile after mile they sped without slackening rein for an instant. The moon went down by the west, and the stars grew dim. When the day broke they were at least twenty miles from Nylstroom, and in the midst of a wild and lonely scrub.
They had reached a fording-place on one of the tributaries of the Limpopo river, and were approaching a native kraal.