ident and more detached until,
sweeping from the haze of smoke, five score Boer horsemen rode in a
bolt-like rush, fierce and uncheckable. Without swerving to right or
left, they charged straight towards the Yeomanry drawn up beside the
guns, drove them back and shot down the gunners almost to a man. An
instant later, the guns were whirled about and trained upon their
quondam owners.

From over his breakfast, that morning, the General raised his head
to listen to the booming of the fifteen-pounders. No need to tell
him that heavy fighting had begun. His experienced ear had taught
him that magazine firing meant business. His hand went in search of
his field-glasses.

"General, the enemy have captured the guns. The Major asks for
assistance to retake them."

The General lowered his glasses. Covered with dust, and breathless,
Weldon was before him.

"Mount every available man, and gallop to the scene of action!"

Orderlies carried the command to the different regiments. Before the
mounted men could start, the infantry were half-way to the guns. But
already shells were falling into the camp, telling every man that
the guns were in the hands of the Boers.

In the forefront of the remainder of his squadron, Weldon found
himself borne onward in the rush, straight from the camp to the
right flank of the guns. The broncho's swinging trot had long since
changed to a gallop, and her eyes were flashing with the wicked
light of her old, unbroken days, as she went tearing across the
sun-baked veldt, up and down over the rises and through the rare bits of
thicket at a pace which Weldon would have been powerless to check.
He had no mind to check it. The crisp air, full of ozone and warmed
by the sun, set his cheeks to tingling with its impact. A true
rider, he let his mood follow the temper of his horse and, like a
pair of wild things, they went bolting away far towards the head of
the squadrons.

And always the firing of the guns grew nearer and faster and more
murderous.

He took no note of passing moments, none of the miles he had ridden
during the past days. These counted for naught, while, with
photographic distinctness, the picture before him fixed itself
sharply in his mind: the dust-colored troops on the dusty veldt, the
brown-painted guns, the distant line of the enemy's fire and, far to
the eastward, the wall of smoke which was fast sweeping towards them
from the acres of burning veldt.

"Captain Frazer, the Gen