imes when holding out ceases to be justifiable--fighting becomes
mere butchery."

"Yes, sir, when forty or fifty men surround four and a wounded one,
shoot down their mounts so as they can't retreat, and then try and
butcher them. It's all on their side, sir, not ours; and the men think
as I do."

Dickenson was silent again, lying there with his teeth set and a
peculiar hard look in his eyes, such as a man in the flower of his youth
and strength might show when he knows the time is fast approaching for
everything to end. Meanwhile the two fresh parties that had come on the
scene were galloping hard to join the enclosing wings of the first
comers, who stood fast, fully grasping what was to follow, and keeping
the attention of their prey by firing a shot now and then, not one of
which had the slightest effect.

"Oh for some water!" groaned Dickenson at last. "Poor Mr Lennox! How
he must suffer!"

"Not he, sir. He's in that state that when he wakes up he'll know
nothing about what has taken place. It's you that ought to have the
drink, to steady your hand for what is to come."

Dickenson made no reply aloud, but he thought bitterly, "When he wakes
up--when he wakes up! Where will it be: the Boer prison camp, or in the
other world?"

The sergeant and the men now relapsed into a moody silence, as they lay,
rifle in hand, with the sun beating down in increasing force, and a
terrible thirst assailing them. Dickenson looked at their scowling
faces, and a sudden impression attacked him that a feeling of resentment
had arisen against him for not surrendering now that they were in such a
hopeless condition. This increased till he could bear it no longer, and
edging himself closer to the sergeant, he spoke to him upon the subject,
with the result that the man broke into a harsh laugh.

"Don't you go thinking anything of that sort, sir, because you're wrong.
Oh yes, they look savage enough, but it's only because they feel ugly.
We're all three what you may call dangerous, sir. The lads want to get
at the enemy to make them pay for what we're suffering. Here, you ask
them yourself what they think about surrendering."

Dickenson did not hesitate, but left the sergeant, to crawl to the man
beyond him, when just as he was close up a well-directed bullet struck
up the sand and stones within a few inches of the man's face,
half-blinding him for a time and making him forget discipline and the
proximity of his officer,