Fire!" Two of the Boers away to West's left front had suddenly sprung up, and bending low were running towards him, evidently making for a patch of bush, out of which a mass of grey stone peered, not a hundred yards from the young men's shelter.

Feeling now that it was life for life, West glanced along the barrel of his rifle, waiting till the Boers had nearly reached their goal, and then, just as the second dashed close behind his leader, West drew trigger, shivering the next moment, for as the smoke rose he saw one of the men lying upon his face and the other crawling back on all-fours.
"Good shot!" said Ingleborough hoarsely, and then he uttered a deep groan.
"Ingle, old fellow, what is it ?" cried West.
The only answer he obtained was from his comrade's piece, for the latter fired again, and another Boer sprang into sight not a hundred yards away, fell upon his knees, and then rolled over.
"Ingle, old fellow," cried West; "don't say you're hurt!" "Oh!" groaned Ingleborough.

"Wasn't going to, old man; but that last brute got me." "Hurt much ?" "Much?
It's like red-hot iron through me.

Oh, if I only had some water!" "Water ?" cried West, springing up.

"Yes; I'll get some." _Crack, crack, crack_! Half-a-dozen rifles rang out in different directions, and in an instant West suffered for his thoughtless unselfish act, for he felt as if someone had struck him a cruel blow with a sjambok across the face from the front, while someone else had driven the butt of his rifle with all his force full upon his shoulder-blade--this blow from the back driving him forward upon his knees and then causing him to fall across Ingleborough.