mber of
mounted figures. A glance was enough. It was a patrol, and a strong
one. They were saved.

But only just in the nick of time.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A DARK MYSTERY OF THE VELDT.

The predominating impulse in the mind of Roden Musgrave when he awoke
the next morning in Darrell's tent, in the Main Camp, was to saddle up
his horse, and betake himself back to Doppersdorp as quickly as his
steed could convey him thither; and as he stepped forth, and his eye
wandered over the array of tents, and waggons, and fires, and cooking
pots, and accoutrements, and men of all sorts and sizes, Dutch burghers
and town volunteers, and Fingo and Hottentot levies, the impulse grew
stronger still. Here was a huge mass of different phases of humanity,
hundreds strong, and now that he was here the associations of the place
failed to interest him, for he was familiar with them all. The sort of
adventure which held any fascination for him was of the nature of that
which he had gone through the day before; but all this organised crowd
under arms was devoid of attraction for him. He had seen it all before.

Darrell, whose tendency never inclined to minimising any exploit in
which he had borne a part, had spread the account of the day's scrimmage
far and wide; and how Roden had saved the position, and shot down
half-a-dozen Kaffirs in less than that number of minutes. This soon
grew to a full dozen, and so on, which to Roden himself was mightily
distasteful. For, the affair over, and he and his comrades in safety,
his wish was, if anything, that he had not shot anybody at all. He
would gladly have brought back the slain Kaffirs to life again, if that
were possible; but anyhow, he saw nothing to brag about in the fact of
having shot them. He was thoroughly sick of all reference to the
matter.

Conquering, however, his homing impulses, he suffered Darrell to
persuade him into taking part in a two days' patrol, which turned out a
deadly monotonous affair; for no sign of an enemy did they see, and a
cold, drizzling rain fell the whole time. Mightily glad was he when it
was over, and they returned to the Main Camp, and more than ever was he
resolved to start back for Doppersdorp on the following morning.

"Where on earth did you pick up your ideas of arranging a fight,
Musgrave?" said Darrell, as, having finished their supper of ration beef
and Boer brandy, they and two or three others were taking it easy in the
tent of the