ning had looked sharply
round, to see about a score of mounted Boers dashing after them at full
gallop, and the fugitives had hardly got into the full swing of their
stride before they heard _cracky crack, crack_, the reports of rifles
far in the rear, and _ping, ping_, _ping_, the whistling buzz of the
thin bullets, several of which came unpleasantly near.

"Open out half-a-dozen yards," said Ingleborough, "and lessen their
mark! Think we shall reach that shed?"

"No," said West coolly. "It's farther off than I thought. Let's stop
at that clump yonder, and lie behind it to fire back."

"Very well; but they'll ring round us and we shall be taken in flank and
rear."

"Not till we've brought down two of them," said West, through his teeth.

"Two apiece," said Ingleborough. "Now then, put on a spurt, and let's
get to that heap, or they'll be down upon us before we're half-way to
the shed. Run!"

They did run, with all their might; but out on the open veldt distances
are horribly deceiving, especially in the early morning light, and to
the despair of the fugitives the Boers came rapidly nearer, while the
clump of earth for which they made seemed to be as distant as ever. The
only thing they made out was that it became more diffused, and they
plainly saw that it was a long ridge of earth freshly thrown up,
evidently from a ditch beyond.

"Why, it's a long rifle-pit," cried Ingleborough. "Run, lad, run; we
must do it now!"

But the pursuing Boers were coming on fast, and the fugitives felt that
in a minute or so they would be overtaken.

There was something, though, in their favour, for as the enemy converged
upon them the firing from a distance ceased, those who were using their
rifles fearing to hit their own friends.

"It's of no use; we can't do it!" panted West, as Ingleborough, now that
there was no need to try and diminish the mark at which the Boers fired,
closed in again.

"Not two hundred yards away now!" said Ingleborough hoarsely.

"Let's turn and have a couple of shots at them!" cried West.

"No: we should be bound to miss. Run, run!"

It was not the distance but the pace that was killing, and Ingleborough
was right. To have stopped and turned to fire, with their pulses
throbbing, breath coming in a laboured way, every nerve and muscle on
the jump, must have resulted in missing; and the next moment the enemy
would have ridden over them and they would have been either shot or
prisoners.