eggars! Here, you two
ruffians, stow that, or you'll smash up those saddles!"

Ingleborough dashed in, followed at once by West, and as they got in
further from the cave's mouth they dimly saw their mounts spring up from
having a good roll and wriggle upon the soft dry sand to rest their
spines and get rid of the larvae of some worrying pernicious horse-fly.

The moment the two ponies were on all-fours they gave themselves a
vigorous shake, and then whinnied softly and advanced to their riders
with out-stretched necks, expectant of a piece of bread or some other
delicacy with which they had been petted from time to time.

"Why, you larky little rascals!" cried Ingleborough, patting the two
beasts affectionately; "what do you mean by frightening us out of our
seven senses? I mean frightening me, for you weren't scared a bit--eh,
West?"

"Frightened? It was horrible! I can understand now why the Boers can't
bear being attacked from behind!"

"Of course! I say, though, no wonder children are afraid of being in
the dark." He turned to the ponies, and said: "Look here, my lads, I
suppose you don't understand me, but if you could take my advice you'd
lie down to have a good rest. It would do you both good, and if the
firing did begin you'd escape being hit."

To this one of the ponies whinnied softly, and then moved gently to its
companion's side, head to tail, bared its big teeth as if to bite, and
began to draw them along the lower part of the other's spine, beginning
at the root of the tail and rasping away right up to the saddle, while
the operatee stretched out its neck and set to work in the same way upon
the operator, upon the give-and-take principle, both animals grunting
softly and uttering low sounds that could only be compared to bleats or
purrs.

"They say there's nothing so pleasant in life as scratching where you
itch," said West, laughing. "My word! They do seem to enjoy it."

"Poor beggars, yes!" replied Ingleborough. "I believe there's no
country in the world where animals are more tortured by flies than in
Africa. The wretched insects plunge in that sharp instrument of theirs,
pierce the skin, and leave an egg underneath; the warmth of the body
hatches it into what we fishing boys called a gentle, and that white
maggot goes on eating and growing under the poor animal's coat, living
on hot meat always till it is full-grown, when its skin dries up and
turns reddish-brown, and it lies still