"But you said that the 'boys' with the exception of yourselves had been killed. What makes you think that, Simon?"
"I dink nothin' at all about it, baas; I am sure." Here the Kaffir's eyes dilated widely. "From our hiding-place in de bush, Dan'l an' me saw one ob de 'boys' run into de ostrich kraal. A Boer ran after him an' shot him down. Den several oder shots were fired, and we knows what dat means. Den we see de missis and de little missie wiping dere eyes wid aprons. Dis is a bad mornin' for us, baas."
"All right, 'boys,'" said Morton; "you go along with me. Have you any knives?"
Daniel produced an ugly-looking bowie knife from a sheath which he had concealed inside his somewhat scanty shirt, and held it up for the white man's inspection.
"That will do," said the New Zealander. "And now heigho! for Orangefontein and my comrades of the Auckland Rangers!"
"Baas, can you tell me where young Baas Jack is?" asked Daniel.
"He is a prisoner in the hands of the Boers, my lad," answered Morton; "but I trust that before long we shall come across him. I think I——"
The New Zealander halted, for the sound of heavy rifle-fire could again be heard proceeding from some place a few miles distant in the right front.
"Fighting is going on," muttered Morton. "Hang my ill-luck! I am always out of the show,"—a statement which was by no means a correct one, seeing that Major Salkeld's favourite scout had been in more skirmishes probably than any other Irregular in the army.
Morton directed the two Kaffirs to look in the direction whence the reports came; but the keen vision of Simon and Daniel could detect no flashes of flame, and in these days of smokeless powder no haze hangs over scenes of fight.