was here."

His words brought forth a tremendous cheer from all who heard them, but
the major turned upon the men angrily.

"Shoot, you rascals, shoot!" he cried; "right and left. Keep down the
savages' fire if you can."

For, unmoved by the gallant actions going on in front, brave men setting
death at defiance--as scores of others had done all through the war--in
the noble endeavour to save a wounded man's life, dozens of the Boers
began firing at the rescue party, heedless of the fact that their
bullets crossed the narrow way traversed by the little force in their
dash from the village to the kopje, and now horribly dotted by the
wounded and dying of both sides who had fallen in the desperate
encounter.

Yells and shouts arose from both sides as the bullets took effect among
friends; but in their mad hate against those whom they called the
British rooineks, the Boers fired on. Fortunately, for the most part
the wielders of the Mauser were not calmly lying down behind stones,
with rests for their rifles, but were crowded together, nervous,
agitated, and breathless with running, so that their bullets were badly
aimed during the first minute or two. Directly after, they were
startled by the hail poured upon them from the whole line of men behind
the great wall--a hail of lead beneath which many fell never to rise
again, while the greater part devoted themselves to seeking cover,
crawling anywhere to get under the shelter of some stone.

The roar, then, that greeted the little party struggling back was not
from British throats but from British rifles, which for the time being
thoroughly kept down the enemy's fire, till Lennox and Dickenson bore
the insensible form of Roby right up to the wall, followed by Sergeant
James and his two companions, each carrying a wounded comrade on his
back.

And now, without ceasing their firing, the line cheered till all were
hoarse, while four men sprang over to Roby's help, the others being
tumbled over, to be seized by willing hands.

It was quite time, for both Lennox and Dickenson were spent--the former
sinking upon his knees to hold on by one of the stones; Dickenson
bending forward to try and wave one hand, but dropping suddenly across
Roby's knees.

"Wounded?" cried the major excitedly, as he bent over Lennox directly he
was lifted in, the last of the four.

Lennox opened his fast-closing eyes and stretched out his right hand to
feel for Dickenson's, in vain. Then,