wild kind of exhilaration as the
wind rushed by their cheeks, and the plucky little horses stretched out
more and more as if enjoying the race as much as their riders.

Strange terms "exhilaration" and "enjoying," but none the less true.
For there was no feeling of dread, even though the bullets kept on
whizzing by them to right, to left, in front, far behind; now high
overhead, and more often striking up the dust and ricochetting into
space, to fall neither knew where. Every leaden messenger, it it
reached its mark, meant a wound; many would have resulted in death had
they struck the fugitives. But the excitement made the rush one wild
gratification, combined with a kind of certainty that they would escape
scot-free; and they laughed aloud, shouting words of encouragement to
their ponies and cries of defiance and derision at the unsuccessful
riflemen.

"Why, we could do better ourselves, Noll!" cried Ingleborough. "So
these are your puffed-up Boers whom writers have put in their books and
praised so effusively! My word, what a lot of gammon has been written
about rifle-shooting! I believe that Cooper's Deerslayer with his
old-fashioned rifle was a duffer after all, and the wonderful shots of
the trappers all bluff."

"Perhaps so!" shouted West, rather breathlessly; "but these fellows can
shoot!"

"Not a bit!"

"Well, my ear has stopped bleeding; but it smarts as if someone was
trying to saw into the edge."

"Never mind; it's only gristle!" said Ingleborough.

"I don't mind, but if the Boer who fired that bullet had only held his
rifle a hair's breadth more to the left the scrap of lead would have
gone into my skull."

"Of course; but then he did not hold his rifle a hair's breadth more to
the left. By jingo!"

"What's the matter?"

"Don't quite know yet. It feels quite numb and free from pain. I don't
think I'm hit. I half fancy the poor pony has it, for he gave a
tremendous start. All right; keep on! The bullet struck my rolled-up
blanket, and it has gone into the saddle. I can feel the little hole."

"What a narrow escape!" cried West anxiously. "Come, you must own that
they can shoot straight! If that bullet had gone a trifle higher it
would have gone through your loins."

"To be sure! and a little higher still, through between my shoulders; a
trifle more, through the back of my head; and again a trifle more, and
it would have gone above me. As it is, there's a hole in my saddle, and