Now then, get hold of your rein!" There was a few moments' pause while the pair crept alongside of their ponies.

Then West drew a deep breath and cried: "Mount!" As he uttered the word he glanced over his pony's back at the advancing enemy, and saw that they had caught sight of the two animals, halted, and were in the act of taking aim at them.

But neither West nor Ingleborough paused, raising a foot to the stirrup and being in the act of springing up, when the reports of about a dozen rifles rang out, and West's rein was jerked out of his hand as he was thrown upon his back, while his pony made a series of tremendous bounds, the last of which took it into the river with a plunge of about a dozen feet right into a deep pool.

The water splashed on high, glittering in the sunshine, and the next minute the unfortunate beast was floating slowly away towards the swift current, just feebly pawing at the water, and on raising its head it fell again with a heavy splash.
"They can shoot well!" said Ingleborough coolly.
West turned his gaze from the dying pony, irritated beyond measure by his companion's easy-going coolness, and then saw the full extent of their trouble, for Ingleborough's pony had sunk upon its knees and then lain gently over upon its side, to die instantly without a struggle, one of the Boers' bullets having passed right through its brain.
"Might have been worse!" continued Ingleborough.

"They did not hit us! Come along, lad! They can't see us now.