hem free, mount, and make a old dash for liberty.

But a glance at Ingleborough showed him that this would be impossible,
for the poor fellow had sunk over sidewise as soon as he had been lifted
out of the saddle, and lay perfectly inert and with his eyes
half-closed. West knelt down by him and, taking his slung water-bottle,
he raised his injured companion's head a little and began to trickle, a
few drops at a time, a little water between the sufferer's lips.

He was occupied in this way when he noted that a large group of the
Boers had approached, one of whom, a short sturdy-looking individual,
with swarthy skin and thick black beard plentifully sprinkled with grey,
suddenly said, in good English: "What is the matter with him--shot?"

"No," replied West. "His horse was struck, and reared up, and my friend
was thrown heavily upon his head."

"Oh, is that all?" said the Boer nonchalantly. "Let him sleep it off!
But listen, you: we shoot prisoners who try to escape."

"I shall not try to escape and leave him," said West coldly.

The Boer commandant, for such he proved to be, gave him a keen look and
then turned away to speak to one of the men, the result of the orders he
gave being that Ingleborough was carried to one of the wagons forming
the laager, and West ordered to follow and wait upon his friend, who,
after his injury had been carefully bathed and bandaged, sank into a
swoon-like sleep, leaving West to sit thinking of their position and
pondering upon the fact that the two Basuto ponies were tethered in
sight of where he sat, and that he still had the treasured-up despatches
safe.

His great trouble now seemed to be whether he should conceal the papers
about his person or leave them in the haversack carelessly hung from the
side of the wagon-tilt, lest he should be searched again and with a more
serious result than the loss of watch and purse.

Night came at last, with the difficulty still unsolved, and a yet more
serious one to keep him awake.

It was this: Ought he to wait till well on in the night, and then creep
out by the sentry on duty outside, get to one of the ponies, and try and
steal away?

And the time glided on, with the question still unanswered. There was
the horse, and there was the despatch; but there were also the Boers by
the hundred, hemming him completely in, and, even if he were disposed to
leave Ingleborough to his fate, any attempt seemed to be mad to a
degree.

CHAPTER