the weapon ready to strike, he charged straight at the two
Boers, who levelled their rifles at him and fired. One of the bullets
flew close by his head, and the other actually struck and severed his
stirrup leather without touching him. In an instant Jack dropped his
reins and raising his rifle, took a hasty aim, and pulled the trigger.
It was a lucky shot, for one of the ponies pitched forward, throwing its
rider violently over its head.

The other man boldly stood his ground, and, rising in his stirrup, took
a deliberate aim and sent a bullet swishing so close past Jack's head
that it cut his ear. Before he could repeat the shot Jack was on him,
and had thrust his bayonet through him and swept him off his saddle.

After that there was a quarter of an hour of the wildest excitement.
Tearing madly forward, his pony leapt everything that came in its path
and soon outdistanced the pursuers, who had halted at the fringe of bush
and were now sending volleys after him. But horse and rider seemed to
bear a charmed life, till an unlucky bullet struck the plucky little
animal and caused it to fall. Jack went flying some yards ahead into a
thick mimosa bush, which broke his fall, and, extricating himself and
picking up his rifle, darted off. Showers of bullets followed him, but
by bending low he escaped them all, and an hour later was in the heart
of the bush and safe from the pursuing Boers. By that time he was
thoroughly exhausted. He threw himself panting on the ground and
remained motionless for a long time. Then he rose to his feet once more
and set off in the direction of Mafeking.

All that night he trudged on, and spent the following day beneath the
shade of a friendly thorn bush. Then he started again, and reached his
destination just as the next day was dawning. Footsore and weary, he
staggered up to one of the pickets, and, hastily answering his hail of
"Who goes there?" with "Friend", snatched at the man's water-bottle and
greedily gulped down the contents. Then, feeling stronger and more
refreshed, he limped on into the town and handed his despatches to the
redoubtable Baden-Powell, who welcomed him heartily.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

GALLANT MAFEKING!

Had he been the bearer of the most eagerly-looked-for news, Jack could
not have received a more enthusiastic welcome than he obtained from the
gallant little garrison of Mafeking. As he staggered into the town,
hot, dusty, and dishevelled, and worn out