eir new friend the informer
hailing the prisoners in the wain.

"Hullo!" cried Anson, with one of his most irritating smiles--one full
of the triumph over them he enjoyed and the contempt he felt, "hullo!
Who'd have thought that the virtuous West and the enthusiastic sham
detective Ingleborough would have come out here to join the Boers? But
don't tell me. I know: I can see how it is. You've both been bled, and
that's let some of the bounce out of you."

He stopped for a moment for those he insulted to reply, but as they both
sat looking at him in cool contempt he went on jeeringly: "The Boers
know what they're about, I see. When a horse has the megrims they bleed
him in the ear, and judging that the same plan would do for a donkey
they've bled cocky West there, and bull-headed Ingleborough on the
skull."

West's face grew of a deeper red, and he drew in a long deep breath, for
those of the Boers who understood English burst into a hearty laugh at
this sally of the renegade's.

"Well, I'm glad of it!" continued Anson, taking the Boers' laughter as
so much approval. "It was all you wanted, Bully West, and I daresay,
now that you've come to your senses, you'll make a decent Boer. There,
I'll give you a recommendation for a clerkship, for you do really write
a decent hand."

"Say thanks," growled Ingleborough, with a sneer which told of his
contempt; "he will no doubt have plenty of interest. He has come up to
lead the Boer army's band and give lessons on the flute."

Anson started as if he had been stung.

"Quiet, man, quiet!" whispered West to Ingleborough; but it was in vain.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE RINGING OF THE SHILLING.

People make their plans in cold blood and forget all about them when the
blood grows hot.

It was so here. West had made up his mind what to do while cool, but
acted just in the fashion he had cried out against to his companion.

For as soon as Anson lounged up to them in his supercilious jaunty way,
West's cool blood warmed, grew hot at the scoundrel's contemptuous look
of triumph, and at the insult respecting the Boers boiled over.

"How dare you!" he raged out. "Keep your distance, you contemptible
cur, or, prisoner though I am, I'll give you such a thrashing as shall
make you yell for mercy!"

"Hullo! What does this mean?" said one of the Boer officers, closing
up, followed by the others.

"The prisoner is a bit saucy!" said Anson contemptuously. "You did not
b