tor's warnings were forgotten, and the visitor said hoarsely,
"Well, go on. Why don't you speak?"

"Oh, I don't want to begin blowing about what I did," said Lennox
quietly.

"But I want to hear," said Dickenson. "Go on--the Boer raised his rifle
to bash it down on Roby's head. What then?"

"Well, he didn't. I was obliged to cut him down. Then the pony jerked
itself free and galloped off."

"And you ran to catch it?" cried Dickenson excitedly.

"Nonsense!" said Lennox, laughing. "Why should I do that? What did I
want with the pony, unless it might have been to get poor Roby across
its back? But I never thought of it. I only thought of getting him on
mine."

"And did you?" cried Dickenson.

"Of course I did. I wanted to carry him to the rear, poor fellow."

"Ha!" ejaculated Dickenson.

"Well, don't shout. What an excitable beggar you are?"

"Go on, then. You keep giving it to me in little bits. What then?"

"Oh, I got him on my back, and it was horrible His wound bled so."

"But you carried him?"

"Yes, ever so far; till that happened."

"Yes! What?"

Lennox touched his neck, and his hearer literally ground his teeth in
rage.

"Will--you--speak out?" he cried.

"Will you take things a little more coolly?" said Lennox quietly.
"Didn't Emden say I was to be kept quiet?"

"Of course; of course," said Dickenson hurriedly. "But you don't know,
old chap, what I'm suffering. I'm in a raging thirst for the truth--I
want to take one big draught, and you keep on giving me tiny drops in a
doll's teaspoon."

"It's because I hate talking about it. I don't want to brag about
carrying a wounded man on my back with a pack of Boers on horseback
chivvying me. Besides, I'm a bit misty over what did happen. An upset
like that takes it out of a fellow. Since I've been lying here this
morning thinking it over the wonder to me is that I'm still alive."

Dickenson pressed his teeth together, making a brave effort to keep back
the words which strove to escape, and he was rewarded for his reticence
by his comrade continuing quietly:

"It all happened in a twinkling. Roby was balanced on my back, and I
was trying to get away from the retreating Boers, sword in one hand,
revolver in the other; and I kept two off who passed me by pointing my
pistol at them, when another came down with a rush, made a snatch at the
lanyard, and, almost before I could realise what was happening, poor
Roby was down and I