y're both dead enough by this time!" said West bitterly.

"Mine may be, for it was hit; but from the way it reared up and kicked
out it had no bones broken, and these Basuto ponies are such hardy
little beasts that I daresay it got better; while yours was so good that
you may depend upon it some Boer has it nipped tightly between his legs,
and is making the most of it."

"I hope you are right!" said West. "And there, I will not mourn for
them, as you call it, any more, but make the best of things. Let's see;
this is the sixth day out from Mafeking."

"Seventh," said Ingleborough correctively.

"Of course; so it is, but I lose count through being so intent upon the
one idea of getting back to Kimberley. Do you think we shall manage to
get through the Boer lines?"

"Think? Why, we've got to get through them. We shouldn't be long if we
could only ride straight away, and not be always running right on to
some fresh party who begin to make game of us directly."

"That's rather an ambiguous way of speaking, Ingle," said West,
laughing, as he caressed his pony. "If anybody else heard you he would
think you meant that the Boers bantered and chaffed us."

"But nobody else does hear us, and you think that I mean that they begin
to pump out bullets at us just as if we were a pair of springboks. I
say, I'm beginning to think that we are leading a charmed life, for it
is wonderful what escapes we have had from their long-carrying rifles."

"I'm beginning to think in a much more matter-of-fact way," replied
West; "and I think this, that five hundred yards' range is quite long
enough for any rifle used on active service. I know that when one takes
aim beyond that distance one is very doubtful of hitting."

"I feel so after half that distance," replied Ingleborough, and then:
"Hullo! See something?"

"Yes; I thought we were going to have a good long ride in peace this
morning, but look yonder!"

The two young men drew rein and leaped to the ground, each hurriedly
getting out his glass, for the commandant at Mafeking had supplied them
with fresh ones, to steady it by resting it upon the saddle he had just
quitted, their well-trained ponies standing perfectly motionless.

"What do you make of it?" said Ingleborough, scanning a mistily-seen
dark line right away beneath the sun.

"Wagons trekking," replied West quietly.

"Friends?"

"Who can say? I think not. Reinforcements and stores on the way to the
besieger