rang up before him, ragged and
grim and old, but with the fire of fanaticism and race-hatred in their
eyes. One of them he accounted for, another he wounded, but the wounded
voortrekker--a giant of near seven feet clubbed his rifle, and drove at
him. Rudyard shot at close quarters again, but his pistol missed fire.

Just as the rifle of his giant foe swung above him, Byng realized that
the third Boer was levelling a rifle directly at his breast. His eyes
involuntarily closed as though to draw the curtain of life itself, but,
as he did so, he heard a cry--the wild, hoarse cry of a voice he knew
so well.

"Baas! Baas!" it called.

Then two shots came simultaneously, and the clubbed rifle brought him
to the ground.

"Baas! Baas!"

The voice followed him, as he passed into unconsciousness.

Barry Whalen had seen Rudyard's danger, but had been unable to do
anything. His hands were more than full, his life in danger; but in the
instant that he had secured his own safety, he heard the cry of "Baas!
Baas!" Then he saw the levelled rifle fall from the hands of the Boer
who had aimed at Byng, and its owner collapse in a heap. As Rudyard
fell beneath the clubbed rifle he heard the cry, "Baas! Baas!" again,
and saw an unkempt figure darting among the rocks. His own pistol
brought down the old Boer who had felled Byng, and then he realized who
it was had cried out, "Baas!"

The last time he had heard that voice was in Park Lane, when Byng, with
sjambok, drove a half-caste valet into the street.

It was the voice of Krool. And Krool was now bending over Rudyard's
body, raising his head and still murmuring, "Baas--Baas!"

Krool's rifle had saved Rudyard from death by killing one of his own
fellow-fighters. Much as Barry Whalen loathed the man, this act showed
that Krool's love for the master who had sjamboked him was stronger
than death.

Barry, himself bleeding from slight wounds, stooped over his
unconscious friend with a great anxiety.

"No, it is nothing," Krool said, with his hand on Rudyard's breast.
"The left arm, it is hurt, the head not get all the blow. Alamachtig,
it is good! The Baas--it is right with the Baas."

Barry Whalen sighed with relief. He set about to restore Rudyard, as
Krool prepared a bandage for the broken head.

Down in the valley the artillery was at work. Lyddite and shrapnel and
machine-guns were playing upon the top of the ridge above them, and the
infantry--Humphrey's and Blagdon's men-