* * * *

"We must push on and get touch with our loose squadron to-night," said
the brigadier, as he and his staff made a hasty midday meal off tinned
sausages and eggs cooked by the terrified women of the farmhouse. "I
wonder what has happened to that poor little subaltern boy that I sent
on this morning. Ah! here's Mr Intelligence direct from the
bloodstained field; now we shall know the damage!"

_Brigadier._ "Any Boer wounded?"

_Intelligence Officer._ "Yes, sir; two, and two killed."

_B._ "Are the wounded talkative?"

_I. O._ "One is too far gone, sir; the other is quite communicative."

_B._ "Well, what has he got to say?"

_I. O._ "He lies about himself. Swears that he is a Free Stater; but
as a matter of fact his name is Pretorius, and he is a son of the
farmer from whose wife we got our guides last night. By the merest
chance we took a photograph of the farmer's two sons out of an album
we found at the farm. And here is one of them wounded to-day. From
his account it appears that a man called Lotter is here with a
commando, and that he and his have just brought off rather a bad
thing. Lotter's commando only joined the rebels returning from
Nieuwjaarsfontein about an hour ago. The rebels knew that our advance
squadron was at this farm last night, and when they saw us here, they
mistook us for Major Twine, and knowing his strength attacked in good
heart."

_B._ "I thought it was something of that kind. Well, we need not eat
our hearts out about Twine. Those swine won't be taking any more
to-day, especially now that they have reason to believe that we are
about. But we won't waste time; we'll go on in half an hour. Send word
round, and then come and have some food!"

* * * * *

As the shadows began to grow long across the level of stunted Karoo we
had placed another ten miles behind us on the road to Britstown. Never
a further sign did we see that day of our enemy. But this is typical
of this free fighting on the open veldt. Your enemy comes upon you
like a dust-devil--he appears, strikes, wins or loses, and then
disappears again as suddenly as he came. You fight your little battle,
bury your dead, shake yourselves, and forget all about the incident.
This, it may be assumed, for the last year has been the nature of the
life which all mounted men have led out here.

Just before the sun set, enshrouded in a curtain of rising mist, we
reached a great