who now that he was in a horizontal position seemed
to have suddenly grown wakeful. "I say."

"Well?"

"I wonder how our dear friend Anson is!"

West made no reply.

"I say! West!"

"Oh, don't talk, please. I want to sleep."

"All right, you shall, till I see the pearly dawn streaming in through
that little window at the back here. I say, though, if you hear me turn
round in the night and the cartridges begin to pop, just wake me up, or
there may be an accident."

West again made no reply.

"And we should have Tante Ann waking up, when there would be a greater
explosion still. There, good night!"

"Good night."

Then silence, save that the cry of some prowling creature far out on the
veldt sounded wonderfully like the baying of a dog.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

A DARK VISITOR.

An hour must have passed away, during which neither of the weary bearers
of the despatch moved. Then in a low whisper West spoke.

"Asleep, Ingle?"

"Asleep? No," was whispered back. "I can't close my eyes."

"Neither can I."

"Why not?"

"Over tired and excited, I suppose. All this is so strange too."

"What have you been thinking about?"

"At first I could only think of the despatch and wonder whether we
should get it to Mafeking. Then I began thinking of that black out in
the stable and what he said."

"About his master wanting his pony saddled?" whispered Ingleborough.

"Yes. What did he want his pony saddled for at that time of night?"

"How strange!" said Ingleborough. "That's what kept on bothering me!"

"Ingle."

"Yes."

"Do you think that fellow meant treachery?"

"I don't know; but I'd believe in any treacherous act on the part of a
Boer."

"Would he be likely to ride off somewhere to where there is a commando?"

"For the sake of getting us taken prisoners or shot?"

"Or so as to get possession of our ponies! I saw him examining them as
if he liked them."

"So did I."

There was silence again, and West spoke.

"Ingle," he said, "I can't sleep here; the despatch seems to be sticking
into me to remind me of my duty. We shall rest better in our saddles
than on this wretched bed. What do you say--the free cool air of the
veldt, or this stuffy, paraffiny room?"

"Let's be off, and at once!"

"We will. We can slip out quietly without waking these people, and most
likely we are misjudging the man, who has the regular racial hatred of
the British."

"Perhaps; but we must be care