great peril
to plunge into another; but, frantic with excitement, Denham saved us by
his shout: "Hurrah! Prisoners; help!"

A young officer sprang into the wagon, sword in hand, followed by
half-a-dozen of his men with bayonets levelled at us; but the officer
halted the men.

"Prisoners," he cried excitedly, "or a ruse?"

"Get out!" shouted Denham. "Do you take me for a Dutchman? Look at our
hands and feet."

A sergeant sprang forward and took the swinging lantern from the hook,
opened its door, and, as he held it down, they saw our horribly swollen
and useless limbs, with the hide-thongs just freshly cut through.

"Who did that?" asked the young officer.

"My young brother here," I said quickly; "we were just going to try and
escape."

"Ah!" cried the young man sharply, as an angry murmur ran round the
group. "You couldn't escape with feet like that. I mean, who tied you
up in that brutal way?"

"The Boers!" cried Denham passionately, for his face was convulsed, and
he looked hysterical and weak now.

The soldiers uttered a fierce yell, and as others crowded to back and
front I heard a burst of excited ejaculations, oaths, and threats.

"'Tention!" shouted the officer.

"Now then," he cried, "who are you? Oh, I see you both belong to the
Light Horse."

"Yes," I said, for Denham was speechless. "They took us last night as
we were trying to creep through their lines to come to you for help."

"Ah!" cried the officer.

"They said we were spies, and we were to be shot at daybreak."

"We've come and shot them instead," said the officer. His men inside
and out burst into a wild cheer. "But who are these? Boers?"

"No," I cried quickly. "My father and brother, who came to help us to
escape."

"That's right," cried the officer, and the firing and cheering went on
near at hand. Then he added hastily, "Sergeant and four men stop and
help these gentlemen to the rear. Now, my lads, forward!"

He sprang out into the darkness, followed by his men, and we were left
together, with my father down upon his knees holding me to his breast,
and his lips close by my ear murmuring softly two words again and
again--"Thank God! Thank God!" while Bob held on to one of my hands,
jerking it spasmodically; and then I heard him cry out to one of the
soldiers, "Don't stare at me like that! I can't help it. You'd be as
bad if you were as young."

"What!" cried a rough voice. "Why, I'm 'most as bad, and I'm