"Come, you must own that they can shoot straight! If that bullet had gone a trifle higher it would have gone through your loins." "To be sure! and a little higher still, through between my shoulders; a trifle more, through the back of my head; and again a trifle more, and it would have gone above me.

As it is, there's a hole in my saddle, and I'm all right." "Thank Heaven!" cried West.
"I did," said Ingleborough, "but in a quiet way! Yes, lad, they can shoot; but it's a hard mark to hit--a galloping man end on.

They'd be better if we were going at right angles to the shot!" "Now then, another five minutes, and we shall be beyond the range of their rifles." "And in another you had better give the word to slacken speed, for the ground will be getting rough.

Why not give it now?
They've ceased firing." "Ease down then to a gentle canter," cried West, in reply, and their panting steeds were checked so that for the last mile of their retreat they progressed at an easy ambling pace which enabled the horses to recover their wind, while the precipitous sides of the eminence in front grew clearer to the eye and gave ample proof of being able to furnish nooks which would afford them and their horses security, while enabling the friends a good opportunity for returning the compliment to the Boers as far as bullets were concerned.
West said something to this effect after taking his glass from where it was slung and looking back, to see that the enemy was remounting and continuing the pursuit.
"Not they!" replied Ingleborough.

"They're too fond of whole skins to run risks! They'll lie down in holes and corners to fire at us, but they will not attack us if we are well in cover, and they find we can hold our rifles straight." "Then we must!" said West quietly.