"Look for yourself; they're already coming!" Ingleborough turned his head sharply, to see that a line of galloping men had just been launched from the Boer laager to the right and left, and were streaming in single file down the slope, leaving ample room between them for their dismounted companions to keep up a steady fire upon the fugitives.
"That's their game, is it ?" said Ingleborough, between his teeth.

"Very well, then, we must make a race of it and see what our picked ponies can do." "That's right!" cried West.

"Let's open out a little!" "Right, and give them less to aim at! The bullets are flying wildly now.

Ten yards apart will do." They separated to about this distance, and at a word from West each nipped his pony's flanks with his knees and rose a little in the stirrups, with the result that the wiry little animals stretched out greyhound fashion and flew over the veldt as if thoroughly enjoying the gallop.
"Steady! steady!" shouted West, at the end of ten minutes.

"We're leaving the brutes well behind, and the bullets are getting scarce.
Don't let's worry the brave little nags! With a start like this we can leave the Boers well behind." Ingleborough nodded after a glance backward and followed his companion's example, drawing rein so that their steeds settled down into a hand-gallop, still leaving their pursuers farther behind.