refully balance an old meat-tin on the top of the parapet of the enemy's
western entrenchment. He saw Saxham kneeling, aim and fire, and with the
sharp rap of the exploding cartridge came a howl from the owner of the
hand, who had not withdrawn it with sufficient quickness.

Half a dozen rifle-muzzles came nosing through the loopholes at that yell.
There was quite a little fusillade, and the sharp cracks and flashes in
Saxham's vicinity told of the employment of explosive bullets. But not one
hit the man. An unkempt Boer head bobbed up, looking for his corpse. The
Winchester cracked, and the unkempt head fell forwards, its chin over the
edge of the parapet, and stayed there staring until the comrades of its
late owner pulled the dead man down by the heels.

There was a cheer from the rifle-pits in the river-bed, and another from
Fort Ellerslie, where eager, excited spectators jostled at the loopholes.
A minute later the Fort's ancient bow-chaser barked loudly, and pitched a
solid shot. The metal spheroid hit the ploughed-up ground some ninety feet
in front of the parapet where the bloody head had hung, and over which
those explosive bullets had been fired, rose in a cloud of dust, and
literally jumped the trench. There was a roar of distant laughter as the
ball began to roll, and shaggy heads of curious Boers, inured only to the
latest inventions in lethal engineering, bobbed up to watch. More laughter
accompanied the progress of the ball. But presently it encountered a mound
of earth, behind which certain patriots were taking coffee, and rolled
through, and the laughter ceased abruptly. There was a baggage-waggon
beyond through which it also rolled, and behind the waggon a plump,
contented pony was wallowing in the sand. When the ancient cannon-ball
rolled through the pony, the owner spoke of witchcraft. But the patriots
who had been sitting behind the mound made no comment then or
thenceforward.

At this juncture, and with almost a sensation of pleasure, Saxham saw his
old acquaintance Father Noah climb out of his particular trench, briskly
for one well stricken in years, and toddle out, laden with rifle, biltong
bag, and coffee-can, to his favourite sniping-post, where a bush rose
beside a rock, which was shaded by a small group of blue-gums. Soon the
smoke of the veteran's pipe rose above his lurking-place, and as Saxham,
with a grunt of satisfaction, stretched himself upon his stomach on the
hot, sandy earth and p