on their belts
and followed Captain Roby, who, while the colonel's other instructions
were being carried out, marched his men down to where some of the Boer
party, well-guarded by the outposts, could be dimly seen squatted about
or seated on the fronts of two well-loaded wagons, whose teams were
tying down contentedly chewing the cud. Four more Boers kept the sheep
and oxen in the rear of the wagons from straying away in search of a
place to graze, for there was a tempting odour of fresh green herbage
saluting their nostrils, along with the pleasant moisture rising from
the trickling water hurrying away towards the gully where it found its
way into the river.

"What do you say to telling Roby to set a man to probe the sacks with a
fixed bayonet?"

"It would be wise," whispered back Lennox.

"Tchah!" sneered Dickenson. "How could a fellow exist under one of
those sacks of corn? Why, they must weigh on to a couple of
hundredweight."

"I don't care; there's some dodge, Bob, I'm sure."

"Artful dodge, of course. Here, let's see if we know the fellows
again."

"Very well; but be on your guard."

"Bother! Roby and his men will mind we are not hurt."

As he spoke Dickenson led the way close up to the roughly-clad Boers
about the wagons, where, in spite of the darkness, the face of their
leader was easy to make out as he sat pulling away at a big German pipe
well-filled with a most atrociously bad tobacco, evidently of home
growth and make.

"Hullo, old chap!" said Dickenson heartily; "so you've thought better of
it?"

The Boer looked at him sharply, and, recognising the speaker, favoured
him with a nod.

"Brought us some provender?" continued Dickenson; and he received
another nod.

"What have you got?"

The Boer wagged his head sidewise towards the wagons and herds, and went
on smoking.

"Well done; that's better than trying to pot us. But, I say, what about
your commando fellows? What will they say when you go back?"

The Boer took his pipe out of his mouth and stuffed a finger into the
bowl to thrust down the loose tobacco.

"Nothing," he said shortly. "Not going back."

"What!" cried Lennox, joining in after pretty well satisfying himself
that there could be no danger in the unarmed Boers and their wagons.

"What's what?" said the Boer sourly.

"You're not going back?" cried Dickenson, staring.

"Well, we can't go back, of course. If we tried they'd shoot us,
wouldn't they?"

The re