"Yes: it was time!" growled Ingleborough, through his teeth, with his
voice sounding hoarse and strange. "I've hit three. Two haven't
moved."

"What's the matter?" asked West, in a tone of anxiety, for he felt that
something serious had happened to his comrade.

"Don't talk," growled Ingleborough angrily. "Look! Those two. Fire!"

Two of the Boers away to West's left front had suddenly sprung up, and
bending low were running towards him, evidently making for a patch of
bush, out of which a mass of grey stone peered, not a hundred yards from
the young men's shelter. Feeling now that it was life for life, West
glanced along the barrel of his rifle, waiting till the Boers had nearly
reached their goal, and then, just as the second dashed close behind his
leader, West drew trigger, shivering the next moment, for as the smoke
rose he saw one of the men lying upon his face and the other crawling
back on all-fours.

"Good shot!" said Ingleborough hoarsely, and then he uttered a deep
groan.

"Ingle, old fellow, what is it?" cried West.

The only answer he obtained was from his comrade's piece, for the latter
fired again, and another Boer sprang into sight not a hundred yards
away, fell upon his knees, and then rolled over.

"Ingle, old fellow," cried West; "don't say you're hurt!"

"Oh!" groaned Ingleborough. "Wasn't going to, old man; but that last
brute got me."

"Hurt much?"

"Much? It's like red-hot iron through me. Oh, if I only had some
water!"

"Water?" cried West, springing up. "Yes; I'll get some."

_Crack, crack, crack_! Half-a-dozen rifles rang out in different
directions, and in an instant West suffered for his thoughtless
unselfish act, for he felt as if someone had struck him a cruel blow
with a sjambok across the face from the front, while someone else had
driven the butt of his rifle with all his force full upon his
shoulder-blade--this blow from the back driving him forward upon his
knees and then causing him to fall across Ingleborough. Then for a few
moments everything seemed as a blank.

"Hurt much?" came the next minute, as if from a distance.

"Hurt? No!" said West huskily, and he made an effort and rose to his
knees. Then, stung to rage by an agonising pain which stiffened him
into action, he levelled his rifle once more, took a quick aim at a
couple of the Boers who were running towards them in a stooping
position, fired, and distinctly saw one of the two drop to the gr