othing
happened. The storm was increasing. The rain beat ceaselessly on the
corrugated iron roof of their shelter and made a dreary bass
accompaniment to the strident tenor of the rising wind. Inside the
but the men yawned and whispered together by turns. Carew's best
jokes began to fall a little flat, and Weldon held his watch to his
ear, to assure himself that it was still in active service. Then
hastily he thrust the watch into his pocket, gathered up his
sleeping-bag and removed himself to a remote corner of the hut, with
Carew and a dozen more after him.

Not even the most enthusiastic champion of South African rights can
affirm that the South African citizen is heedful of the condition of
his lesser buildings. The rising wind had proved too much for the
hut. Its joints writhed a little, seesawed up and down a little,
then yawned like a weary old man. From a dozen points above, the
rain came pattering down, seeking with unerring instinct that
precise spot on each man's back where skin and collar meet.

"Whither?" Carew queried, as Weldon made his fifth move.

"Outside, to see what the pickets are about."

"But it rains," Carew protested lazily.

"So I observe. Still, I'd rather take it outside as it comes,
instead of having a gutter empty itself on me, when I am supposed to
be under cover."

"Better stay in," Carew advised him.

"No use. Sleep is out of the question, and I'd rather be moving; it
is less monotonous."

"Go along, then, and look out for Boers. Can I have your bag?"

"You're too wet; you'd soak up all the inside of it. If I am to get
a chill, I'd rather do it from my dampness than your own." Carew
laid hands on the bag.

"What a selfish beast you are, Weldon!" he observed tranquilly.
"This is no sack-race; you can't go out to walk in your bag. In
fact, it takes two to make a navigable pair. Then why not let me
have it?"

"Why didn't you bring your own?"

Already Carew was arranging himself in his new covering.

"I mislaid mine in Cape Town," he replied sleepily. "Now please go
away. I need my beauty nap."

An hour later, he was roused by a sharp reversal of his normal
position. When he became fully awake, he was lying in a pool of
water in the middle of the hut, and Weldon was in possession of the
blankets and bag.

"What's the row?" he asked thickly. "I'm a Canadian, out here
shooting Boers. Oh, I say!" And he was on his feet, saluting the man
at Weldon's side.

"The only bag i