rty crouched there with, to use the untrue familiar expression, their
hearts in their mouths, watching their enemies, but stealing a glance
from time to time at the shadowy spot beneath the thick bush, wondering
one and all what the young lieutenant would say next.

"He must give the order to fire," said the sergeant to himself as he
covered the leader. "We shall have Mr Lennox speaking out louder
directly and asking where he is."

The sergeant was quite right, for all of a sudden Lennox exclaimed:

"Why, it's light! Here, where am I?"

But it was directly after the Boer leader had shouted the order to
advance, and the little body of active Bechuana ponies sprang forward,
eager to begin cantering over the plain, not a man the worse for his
narrow escape, as they burst out chatting together, Lennox's exclamation
passing quite unnoticed, even if heard.

"Ha!" ejaculated Dickenson, exhaling his long-pent-up breath. "I doubt
if any of them will be nearer their end again during the war."

And then, after making sure that the Boer party were going off at a
sharp canter, and that the risk of speaking or being seen was at an end,
he crawled quickly to where Lennox lay upon his back, his eyes once more
closed, and sleeping as soundly as if he had never roused up into
consciousness since early in the night.

"Lennox--Drew," whispered Dickenson, catching him by the arm, but only
eliciting a low, incoherent muttering. "Well, you can sleep!"

"It's not quite natural, sir," said the sergeant. "He must have been
hurt somewhere, and the sooner the doctor has a look at him the better."

"Yes," said Dickenson thoughtfully.--"That was a close shave, sergeant."

"Yes, sir--for the enemy. If we had fired they'd have gone off like
frightened sheep, I feel sure now."

"Yes, I think so too. But we must not stir yet."

"No, sir; I'd give those fellows time to get out of sight. We don't
want them to see us. If they did, they'd come swooping down to try and
cut us off. What do you say to trying if we can make out what's wrong
with Mr Lennox? I think he must have been hit in the head."

"Yes; let's look," said Dickenson: and after planting a sentry to keep a
sharp lookout from a sheltered spot on each side of the little woodland
patch, he set to work, with the sergeant's help, to carefully examine
his rescued comrade, but without the slightest result, save finding that
his head was a good deal swollen in one part, and, lowe