CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
A DESPATCH-RIDER'S WORK.
"Hurrah!" cried West, as soon as they were once more well out in the open, their horses breathed, and ready to answer to any demand made upon them by their riders.

"Keep abreast, and open out more.

Faster! faster! We have only a short start this time." "But we'll make the best of it," cried Ingleborough, between his teeth.
"Bend down well! The firing has begun!" "It is speaking for itself," said West grimly, as the buzzing whirr of the bullets began again, while faintly heard there came, half smothered by the thudding of their own horses' hoofs, the clattering of Boer mounts being led out over the stones of the ravine in which they had been hid.
"See any more of the old party ?" cried West, as they rode well out now on to the level.
"No; we've turned off so much that they are quite in our rear." "Then the way's clear for the river ?" "If we can reach it, lad," said Ingleborough; "and if we do it may be in flood, or impassable where we hit it." "Or a hundred other things," cried West angrily, as they tore along at full gallop now, with the bullets flying round them.
"Don't begin to prophesy evil! I say we're going to leave the Boers far behind and escape." "I can't look at our chance in the same flowery light as you do, my boy," replied Ingleborough.

"My breakfast wasn't good enough to inspire me with so much hope, and I should advise you to open your haversack." "Nonsense! I could not eat now!" "But you must be ready to if you don't begin, my lad.

My advice is that you get ready to eat those sandwiches, for you mustn't let the good verbal meat inside get into the enemy's hands." Ingleborough had hardly spoken before his horse suddenly checked, throwing him forward upon its neck and nearly sending him off.