ch; maddening to listen to the
low sounds from beneath which told them that some one of their
comrades was facing the end of his fight. Then, just as they reached
the summit, one of their five dropped, with a bullet shattering the
bone of his ankle.

"Go on, boys! You'll get there," he said, as the next in line dashed
past him. "The hill is Weldon's. Mind you hold it for him. The devil
is in him, and he's bound to win."

On top of the hill, six Boers were huddled in the scant shelter of a
few low, scattered rocks tufted with a bunch of brush whose bleached
stalks marked the darkness with a pale line of range for their fire.
The next volley went astray. It was answered by the crack of Paddy's
rifle. Paddy's chuckle followed close on the crack. "I rolled him
over like a sausage in the hot fat," he commented, as he took a
second aim. "Here goes for another, and may his bed in heaven have a
valance to hide his sins!" A second Boer vanished behind the rocks.

Four Boers in shelter, four Britons in the open; and, on the plain
beneath, twenty-seven hundred men were waiting to see the outcome of
the game.

The tension of the eight men increased. It rendered their aim
unsteady. Under its influence, seven men fell to wasting their
ammunition. The eighth was Paddy. Firing rarely, his rare bullets
told. Now a finger was shattered, now an ear was grazed.

"I'm not doing much killing; but, faith, I'm warming 'em up a bit,"
he said, as he halted to cool his rifle. "It's keeping the ball
a-rolling, and them busy. Else, belike they'd find Satan filling the
idle hands of them with bad deeds. Little Canuck dear, this is hot
work for a boy."

Weldon nodded. His hat had been lost in the scramble up the hill,
his putties were dragged into heaps of khaki about his knees, the
shoulder of his coat was torn by a passing bullet and a scarlet
trickle lined his cheek; but his face was alert and eager, his lips
parted in a half-smile which brought back to Paddy's mind a dim
picture of the boyish trooper he had known and loved at Piquetberg
Road. Then another man in khaki dropped at their feet. The lines of
Weldon's mouth straightened.

"No go," he said briefly. "We must charge. It's our only chance."

Paddy took one last, hasty shot. Then, gripping his rifle, he turned
to Weldon.

"True, little Canuck," he answered loyally. "Go on, and be sure
Paddy will follow you to the other edge of the grave!"

He spoke truthfully. The reinforcemen