Ingleborough.

"I don't want to escape now."

"What? You don't mean to join the Boers as old Fat Face suggested?"

"Why not?" said West dismally. "I dare not go back to Kimberley."

"You daren't turn traitor to your country, and, though you feel right
down in the dumps, you dare go back to Kimberley and walk straight to
the Commandant and speak out like a man, saying: `I did my best, sir;
but I failed dismally!'"

"Ah!" sighed West.

"And he would reply: `Well, it's a bad job, my lad; but it's the fortune
of war.'"

West held out his hand as he sat there tailor-fashion by his friend in
the bottom of the wagon, and there was a warm grip exchanged.

"Bravo, boy! You're coming round! I knew it. You only wanted time."

"Thank you, Ingle! Now then, what was your idea of escaping?"

"Oh, a very simple one, but as likely to succeed as to fail."

"Tell me at once! It will keep me from thinking about that miserable
despatch."

"And the jacket! You and I will have to take turn and turn with mine
when the cold nights come, unless we pretend to lovely Anson that we are
going to stop, and ask him to get you a fresh covering for your chest
and back."

"Oh, none of that, Ingle! I can't bear lying subterfuges. I'd sooner
bear the cold of the bitter nights."

"Don't use big words, lad! Subterfuge, indeed! Say _dodge_--a war
dodge. But about my plan! You have noticed that for some reason they
have not taken our ponies away."

"Yes, they are still tethered to the wheel ox that wagon. What of that?
It would be impossible to get to them and ride out unchallenged."

"Oh no: not my way!"

"What is your way?" said West excitedly.

"Last night was dark as pitch."

"Yes; but there are double lines of sentries about."

"With sharp eyes too; but there was a commando rode out, evidently to
patrol the country and look out for our people."

"Yes; I heard them ride away."

"And I heard them come back at daybreak; but I was too lazy to get up."

"I don't see what you are aiming at," said West wearily; "but I suppose
you have some good idea--I hope a plausible one."

"I think it is, old lad," said Ingleborough, speaking now in a low
whisper. "Suppose when that commando musters after dark--I am supposing
that one will go out again to-night--suppose, I say, when it musters we
had crept out of the wagon and crawled as far as that one where our
ponies are tethered?"

West's hand stole forward to grip his comra