Drew Lennox must be dead.

He found himself at last side by side with the major, who as they went
on began to question him about his friend's disappearance, and he
frowned when Dickenson gravely told him his fears.

"No, no," said the major; "we must hope for better things than that.
He'll turn up again, Dickenson. We must not have our successful raid
discounted by such a misfortune.--Eh, what's that?"

"Boers in sight, sir," said Sergeant James. "Mounted men coming on
fast."

"Humph! Too soon," said the major, and he proceeded to make the best of
matters. The ambulance party was signalled to hurry forward, and a
message sent to the little rear-guard with the store wagons and cattle
to press forward with their convoy to the fullest extent. Then, as the
mounted Boers came galloping on and divided in two parties, right and
left, to head off the convoy, the eager men were halted, faced outward,
and, waiting their time till the galloping enemy were nearly level at
about three hundred yards' distance, so accurate a fire was brought to
bear that saddles were emptied and horses went down rapidly. Five
minutes of this was sufficient for the enemy, the men swerving off in a
course right away from the firing lines, and, when out of reach of the
bullets, beginning to retreat.

"Has that settled them?" said Captain Edwards.

"No," said the major; "only made them savage. They'll begin to try the
range of their rifles upon us now. Open out and hurry your men on, for
the scoundrels are terribly good shots."

The speaker was quite right, for before long bullets began to sing in
the air, strike up the dust, and ricochet over the heads of the men, to
find a billet more than once in the trembling body of some unfortunate
ox. But fighting in an open plain was not one of the Boers' strong
points; the cover was scarce, they had their horses with them, and the
little British party was always on the move and getting nearer home.
Several bold attempts were made to head them off, but they were thwarted
again and again; but in spite of his success, the major began to grow
frantic.

"Look at those blundering oxen, Dickenson," he cried. "It's a regular
funeral pace over what will be our funerals--the brutes! We shall have
to get on and leave them to their fate. I'll try a little longer,
though. I say, we must be half-way now."

"Yes; but unfortunately there's a fresh body of the enemy coming up at a
gallop," said Dickenson,