was very cold, and somehow the
thought occurred to me that it would be a good thing if that lion made a
bound right on to the wagon-box, and then jumped in to seize me and
carry me off as a cat does a rat; and when its roar sounded again,
nearer, all dread and pain died out, for it seemed as if it would be far
better to be killed by a lion than to stand up before the muzzles of a
dozen rifles and be shot as a spy, while Moriarty stood smiling
malignantly at my fate. It was all very vivid as the oxen bellowed
softly now, and Bob whispered into my ear, his breath feeling quite hot
after the chilling iciness of the night wind. "Cheer up, old Val," he
said; "they won't dare to shoot you. I shall be there, and if they
attempt it, and that Irishman gives the order--you know how true I can
aim? I'll send a bullet right through his head, if father isn't first."

I started violently and made an effort to rise; but I only succeeded in
making a noise, as I looked up, to see the yellow lantern sending down
its feeble light; but a lion was barking faintly in the distance, and
some oxen close at hand were lowing uneasily. There was another sound,
too, at the back of the wagon--that of some one climbing up--and in a
wild fit of anxiety I listened for Bob's voice again. But it was only
that of the Boer who had first seized me, and he spoke in a gruff but
not unkindly way, as he said in his own tongue:

"Hullo! What's the matter? Lion scare you?"

"I've--I've been dreaming," I faltered heavily, my heart beating all the
time with big, regular thumps.

"Oh!--He's dreaming too. You're two brave boys to sleep like that the
night before you're both to be shot for spies."

"Ah!" I sighed as he dropped back heavily from the back of the wagon,
"and it was all a dream. Ugh!" I shuddered. I lay still again, my
mind going over the fantasy of the night, which came back so vividly,
yet was so strangely mixed and absurd; but all the time Denham slept on,
breathing heavily, dead to all the sorrows and horror of our unlucky
situation.

The night was cold--bitterly cold--and I was dreadfully wide awake,
wishing now that I could sleep again, but wishing in vain. I lay and
listened to the sound of talking outside, two of the Boers engaging in a
conversation in which I heard the word "cold." Then there came the
sound of the drawing aside of the back curtains, and a big, soft bundle
was pitched in, then another. Directly afterwards two