ery much indeed! My rifle would have gone off by accident
sometimes and hit the wrong man. I say, though, oughtn't the Colonel to
hear all this firing, and come up to help us?"

"That's what I've been thinking," I replied. "I should be very glad if
we saw him on ahead. But we must have a couple of miles to go yet to
join them--mustn't we?"

"Yes, quite that; but, my word!" cried my companion, "they're going it
now. They're firing shots enough to bring down every one of our
rear-guard."

"Yes; and it will be our turn again directly, when they trot on."

"They ought to be here by now," continued my new comrade. "I don't
believe they'll come."

"Why?" I said anxiously.

"They'll all be shot down."

"Nonsense," I said. "Listen; those are their rifles replying."

"I suppose so," was the reply, given thoughtfully. "But what a strange
echo the hills give back here!"

"Yes," I said. "That's why it's called Echo Nek."

"I suppose so; but--but--Here, I say, those are not echoes we can hear
now."

"Nonsense! What can they be, then?"

"Some one else firing. Can't you hear? It sounds from right in front."

"Well, that's how echoes do sound. The reports come down the pass and
strike against the face of the rocks, and are reflected off."

"That's all very nicely put, comrade," said the young man, "and I dare
say it's scientific and `all according to Cocker,' as my father used to
say; but you're not going to make me believe those are echoes we can
hear right in front. Now, you listen."

I did as he suggested, and the rattling of the Boers' rifles came
plainly enough, their many reverberations, as the reports seemed to
strike from side to side, almost drowning the feeble replies of our own
men. Then, after a perceptible pause, fresh reports were heard, and
certainly these seemed to come from some distance away in front.

"There!" cried my companion triumphantly. "What do you say to that?"

"That the shots echo again from some high hills in front."

"Boss Val," cried Joeboy just then, and I touched Sandho with my heels,
making him spring on to where the big black was straining his neck to
look back, but trudging steadily on all the while.

"What is it, Joeboy?" I said anxiously. "Has he moved or spoken?"

"Um! Not said a word; but some one shooting over-over."

He nodded his head in the direction we were going, and now I grasped the
fact that I had before doubted--namely, that firing was going