brush through which they were passing. The others immediately followed
suit, and, letting them have their own way, the party sat once more
listening in vain.

Then came a surprise. All at once, from what Dickenson judged to be
some fifty feet away, there was the peculiar _ruff! ruff! ruff! ruff_!
of some one walking slowly through the low scrub, which there was not
unlike walking over a heather-covered track.

"Stand," cried the lieutenant sharply, "or we fire."

"No. Hold hard," cried a familiar voice. "Who goes there? Dickenson,
is that you?"

"Lennox! Thank Heaven!"

The steps quickened till he who made them came staggering up to the
lieutenant's pony, at which he caught, but reached short, stumbled, and
fell.

The sergeant was off his pony in a moment, handing the reins to a
companion, and helping the lost man to rise.

"Are you all right?" said Dickenson excitedly as he reached down, felt
for, and firmly grasped his friend's wet, cold hand.

"All right?" said Lennox bitterly. "Well, as all right as a man can be
who was about to lie down utterly exhausted, when he heard your pony."

"But are you wounded?"

"No; only been nearly strangled and torn to pieces. But don't ask me
questions. Water!" A water-bottle was handed to the poor fellow, and
they heard him drink with avidity. Then ceasing for a short space, he
said, "I was just going to lie down and give it up, for I was completely
lost." He began drinking again, and then, with a deep breath of relief:
"Whose is this?"

"Mine, sir," said the sergeant, and he took the bottle from the
trembling outstretched hand which offered it.

"Thankye, sergeant," sighed the exhausted man. "It does one good to
hear your voice again. Are we far from Groenfontein?"

"About three miles," said Dickenson.

"Ah!" said Lennox, with a groan. "Then I can't do it."

"Yes, you can," said Dickenson warmly. "Here, hold on by the nag's mane
while I dismount. We'll get you into the saddle, and walk the pony
home."

"Excuse me, sir; I'm dismounted," said the sergeant, "and I'd rather
walk, please."

"Thank you, James," said Dickenson. "I'll take your offer, for I'm
nearly done up myself."

"You keep still, then, sir.--Dismount, my lads, and help to get Mr
Lennox into the saddle.--Rest on me, sir; I've got you. Sure you're not
wounded, sir?"

There was no reply; but the sergeant, who had passed his arm round his
young officer's waist, felt him subside,