ss. Puffs of smoke and dirt were
springing up from every square yard of ground, and a few men rose from
their retreats and ran to the rear where the Basuto servants were holding
their horses. More followed several minutes afterwards, and when those who
remained on the summit of the kopje saw that ten times their number of
soldiers were ascending the hill under cover of cannon fire they also fled
to their horses.

An open plain half a mile wide lay between the point where the burghers
mounted their horses, and another kopje in the north-east. The men lay
closely on their horses' backs, plunged their spurs in the animals' sides,
and dashed forward. The cavalrymen, who had gained the summit of the kopje
meanwhile, opened fire on the fleeing Boers, and their bullets cut open
the horses' sides and ploughed holes into the burgher's clothing. One
horse, a magnificent grey who had been leading the others, fell dead as he
was leaping over a small gully, and his rider was thrown headlong to the
ground. Another horseman turned in his course, assisted the horseless
rider to his own brown steed, and the two were borne rapidly through the
storm of bullets towards the kopje. Another horse was killed when he had
carried his rider almost to the goal of safety, and the Boer was compelled
to traverse the remainder of the distance on foot. Apparently all the
burghers had escaped across the plain, and their field-cornet was
preparing to lead them to another position when a solitary horseman, a
mere speck of black against a background of brown, lifeless grass, issued
from a rocky ravine below the kopje occupied by the enemy, and plunged
into the open space. Lee-Metfords cracked and cut open the ground around
him, but the rider bent forward and seemed to become a part of his
horse. Every rod of progress seemed to multiply the fountains of dust near
him; every leap of his horse seemed necessarily his last. On, on he
dashed, now using his stirrups, now beating his horse with his hands. It
seemed as if he were making no progress, yet his horse's legs were moving
so swiftly. "They will get him," sighed the field-cornet, looking through
his glasses. "He has a chance," replied a burgher. Seconds dragged
wearily, the firing increased in volume, and the dust of the horse's heels
mingled with that raised by the bullets. The sound of the hoofs beating
down on the solid earth came louder and louder over the veld, the firing
slackened and then ceased, and