"Sir," began the trooper, "I fancy we shall see some fighting before long. The country in front is admirably suited for an ambush, and a horseman is rapidly approaching. Look, here he comes!"
Round the bend of a kopje, some seven hundred yards away, a horseman was seen galloping at full speed towards them.
The major at once placed his glasses to his eyes and gazed earnestly through them, after which he rode a little ahead.
"He is quite a youngster," exclaimed the major. "Why, it is the son of our worthy friend, the ostrich farmer, up at the Kopje Farm;" and the next moment Jack Lovat pulled up, mounted on a beautiful mare, which was flecked with foam.
"Sir!" gasped Jack, for he was almost breathless, "you are ambushed. Nearly two hundred Boers are waiting in Langeman's Nek for you. Go back at once, sir."
Jack's shirt and jacket were stained with blood, and Major Salkeld with some anxiety asked, "But you are wounded, my boy. What does this mean, and where do you come from?"
"Excuse me, sir," said Jack, "but we must retire into the donga. The Boers will soon be covering me with their rifles. If you had gone much farther, all of you would have been killed!"
The major wheeled round, and followed by Jack Lovat, returned leisurely to where his men, mounted on their horses, were awaiting him.
"Right about!" shouted the officer; "by fours retire to the donga;" and the troopers obeyed.
The retirement was effected in perfect order, without a shot being fired by the unseen enemy. Then the troop was halted, and Jack Lovat told his story in a few simple words.