rcle. The gray broncho showed her appreciation of the attention by
nipping viciously at the flank of his horse. By Weldon's left side,
Kruger Bobs halted and pointed an accusing forefinger at his knee.

"Dutchmans hurt Boss," he said anxiously.

"Where?"

"Dere." In spite of his effort for sternness, the voice of Kruger
Bobs quavered with anxiety.

Bending over, Weldon glanced down at the dark red stain on the coil
of khaki serge. Then, all at once, he remembered the sudden stinging
of his leg, just before he had started the gray broncho on her last
mad rush across the lead-swept plain. In the excitement that
followed, the matter had entirely passed out of his mind. Even now
that his attention was called to it, he was conscious of no physical
discomfort.

"Kruger Bobs go for doctor?" the boy was urging.

Weldon laughed reassuringly.

"It's nothing, Kruger Bobs. I've no time to fool with doctors now."

"What Boss do?"

"Feed Piggie, eat something, look up Mr. Carew and then get to the
General's tent, inside an hour."

"What for de big boss soldier?"

"He wants me."

"Ya?" Kruger Bobs demanded uneasily.

"To ride a despatch."

"Despatch!" Kruger Bobs exploded in hot wrath. "Kruger Bobs go
despatch; Boss go bed." "Can't do it, Kruger Bobs. This is war, and
I've given my word to the General. It was an order, and I had to do
it." Backing his horse off for a step or two, Kruger Bobs sat
looking at his master and shaking his head mournfully. Then he
straightened in the saddle.

"Boss go; Kruger Bobs go, too," he said, with steady decision.

Less than an hour later, outside the General's tent Kruger Bobs sat
astride The Nig, with the rein of the gray broncho in his hand. The
clouds, since noon banked low in the eastern horizon, had swept up
across the sky, and already the rain was pattering drearily over the
hunched-up shoulders of Kruger Bobs. Inside the tent, the colloquy
was brief. Twice Weldon repeated over the substance of his
despatches and his instructions regarding their destination. The
despatches were slipped between the layers of his shoe-sole, the cut
stitches were replaced, and Weldon rose to his feet.

"My nigger has come from Naauwpoort, bringing me a fresh mount," he
said then. "May I take him with me?"

"What is he?"

"A Kaffir."

"From where?"

"Piquetberg Road."

"Can you trust him?"

Weldon's eyes met the eyes of the General steadily. "As I would
trust myself," he answered.