death.
All the forenoon he dodged them, in and out of the kopjes, along the
sluits, up and down the dongas; sometimes they pelted him at long range
with flying bullets, sometimes he sent them a reminder of the same sort.
And so the day wore on; but at last, towards evening, they fixed him so
that he had to make a dash out across the veldt. He was splendidly mounted,
and when the time came for a dash he did not waste any time making poetry.
Neither did Brabant and his two men; they galloped at full speed after the
fleetly flying figure, and when they saw that a broad and deep donga ran
right across his track, cutting him off from the long line of kopjes for
which he was making, they counted him as theirs. He only had one chance, to
gallop into the donga, jump out of the saddle and fire at them as they
closed in on him; and, as they rode far apart, it was a million to one on
missing in his hurry in the fading light. But the gods had decided
otherwise, for the whiplike crack of rifles suddenly cut the air, and the
bullets fell so thick around the pursuers that the three men could almost
breathe lead. Half a mile away, on the far side of the donga, appeared a
squad of Yeomanry, blazing away like veritable seraphs at Brabant and his
men, whilst they let the flying Boer go free. Brabant whipped out his
handkerchief, and waved it frantically; but the lead only whistled the
faster, and he had only one chance for his life, and that was to wheel and
ride at full speed for the nearest cover, where he and his men hid until
the Yeomen rode up. Then Brabant hailed them, and asked them what the devil
they meant by trying to blow him and his men out of the saddle.

There was a pause in the ranks of the Yeomen, then a voice lisped through
the gathering gloom, "Are you fellahs British?"

"Yes, d--n you; did you think we were springbok?"

"No, by Jove, but we thought you were beastly Booahs. Awfully sorry if
we've caused you any inconvenience. What were you chasing the other fellah
foah, eh?"

"Oh!" howled the disgusted backwoodsman with a snort of wrath, "we only
wanted to know if he'd cut his eye tooth yet."

"Bah Jove," quoth the Yeoman, "you fellahs are awfully sporting, don't yer
know."

"Yes," snarled the angry South African, "and the next time you Johnnies
mistake me for a Booah and plug at me, I'll just take cover and send you
back a bit of lead to teach you to look before you tighten your finger on a
trigger."

Talking o