upon the rustling sound, the makers of which were still invisible, a
couple of shots were fired down at them, the bullets striking the stones
just over their heads.

No reply was made, for the enemy were quite hidden, and with beating
hearts the two young Englishmen waited in horrible suspense for their
chance--one which never came; for directly after quite a volley was
fired, apparently from some distance back from the edge, and, to Drew's
horror, a big burly Boer seemed to leap down from the top of the cliff
to seize them for prisoners.

That was his first surmise. The next moment he knew the truth, for with
a heavy thud the man struck the stones, falling sidewise, and then
turned over upon his face, to lie with his limbs quivering slightly for
a few moments before he lay perfectly still.

"Hurrah!" shouted Dickenson, springing to his feet.

"Down! down!" roared Drew, snatching at his brother officer's arm.

But the need for caution was at an end, for volley after volley came
rolling down into the river-bed, and proof of help being at hand was
given by the rapid firing of the Boers on the other side of the river, a
duel on a large scale being kept up for some ten minutes before the
firing on the far side ceased.

"Whopped!" shouted Dickenson excitedly. "Look! look!" he cried,
pointing down the river and across at an open spot where some dozens of
the enemy were streaming away, galloping as hard as their little
Bechuana ponies could go, but not escaping scatheless, four saddles
being emptied by the fire from the cliff above the watchers' heads.

"I wonder whether the other men who crossed have escaped," said Drew
thoughtfully, as he took his whistle from his cross-belt and held it
ready to blow.

"Take it for granted they have, my son," said Dickenson. "They really
are clever at that sort of thing. I say, I'm glad I didn't go through
that performance."

"What performance?" said Drew wonderingly.

"Hand-shaking in that sentimental way."

"It wouldn't have done you any harm."

"Perhaps not; but, I say, don't stand fiddling about with that whistle.
Blow, man, blow, and let the lads know where we are. I don't want to be
shot now by our own men: too degrading, that."

Drew placed the whistle to his lips, and the shrill, penetrating,
chirruping call rang out, while Dickenson stood looking upward towards
the top of the bank.

Then Robin he put him his horn to his mouth
And a blast he did loudly bl