The ostrich farmer declared that he was all right,—the pain in his head had left him,—and Morton having glanced approval, Major Salkeld consented, and the eleven Imperialists crept forward on hands and knees towards the spot they had just vacated.
The sun was on the point of dropping below the western horizon, and in half an hour's time darkness would cover the veldt, so there was no time to be lost if the Boers were to be captured.
The long, low buildings which constituted Van Donnop's farmstead could be plainly seen, but the Boers had disappeared within a donga. Their approach to the farm, however, would be covered by the troopers' fire, and Morton and his fellow-Colonials waited impatiently for the enemy to emerge from the donga.
Presently a couple of Boers dashed across the space intervening between the donga and the farm.
Two shots rang out, and thin wreaths of bluish-tinted vapour hung round the muzzles of the rifles wielded by Mr. Lovat and Trooper Morton.
"Got him!" ejaculated the latter, as one of the Boers threw up his arms and fell from the horse. The animal, relieved of its burden, galloped wildly towards the farmstead.
The second Boer, on seeing his fellow-burgher fall, wheeled his horse quickly round and dashed furiously for the shelter of the donga.
A dozen leaden messengers of death whistled around him, but he and his steed passed through them unharmed.
With the exception of a solitary shot, no fire came in reply to the troopers' fusillade, and Morton waved to the remainder of the troop to come up, which the latter did.
A consultation was held between Major Salkeld and Morton, and it was eventually decided to await the darkness which would descend on the veldt. Under its cover an advance would be made on the farm.