rawn breath. We are first. There are the Boers dismounting a
hundred yards away. "Action front, the pom-pom." "Down men,
down!"--come the hoarse orders, and a ripple of fire crackles along
the summit of the rise. "Let them have the whole belt."
_Pom-pom-pom-pom-pom-pom!_ The little gun reels and quivers as it
belches forth its stream of spiteful bombs. For a moment the Boers
return the fire. Then they rush for their horses, and in as many
seconds as it takes to light a cigarette are galloping _ventre a
terre_ across the plain in an ever-extending fan. The merciless lead
pursues them. The Dragoons spring to their feet to facilitate rapidity
of fire, while the pom-pom churns the dry dust of the veldt into
little whirlwinds among the flying horsemen. Five hundred yards away
stands a kopje. In three minutes the last of the Boers have placed it
between them and the British fire--except for the three or four that
lie motionless upon the plain.

"Now we shall have it!" and the pom-pom captain turns to the squadron
commander. "I advise you to make your men lie down again. I'm going to
man-handle my gun down the slope."

"_Click-clock, click-clock, click-clock!_" go the Mausers. The Boers
are on the top of the kopje. It is to be their turn now. No; there is
a roar behind the farm, then another, and another. Then three little
white cloud-balls open out on the lip of the kopje.

"Good little Freddy!" soliloquises the pom-pom captain as he snaps his
glasses into their case. "He was watching them. I must get my beauty
to the end of this rise, to catch them as they leave."--"Pom-pom,
limber up!"

_Boom-boom-boom._ Three more little puffs of white over the kopje.
_Click-clock_ once, and the brush was over. What was it worth? Four
mangled rebels on the veldt, and one stalwart dragoon, with white
drawn face and sightless eyes turned to the beautiful blue of heaven!

The brigadier cantered up to the rise. A section of Horse Artillery
rumbled up after him. "Look here," he said to the squadron leader,
"you must get your men on to that kopje: they are not worth
pursuing--there are not more than twenty of them. If I were you I
should open out, divide and gallop round both flanks of the kopje;
it's open veldt beyond, and we'll look after you from this ridge. You
won't see any more of them than their tails. Don't pursue beyond 3000
yards. My orders are to go to Britstown, not to wear my horses out
over scallywag snipers!"

*