CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
THE RINGING OF THE SHILLING.
People make their plans in cold blood and forget all about them when the blood grows hot.
It was so here.

West had made up his mind what to do while cool, but acted just in the fashion he had cried out against to his companion.
For as soon as Anson lounged up to them in his supercilious jaunty way, West's cool blood warmed, grew hot at the scoundrel's contemptuous look of triumph, and at the insult respecting the Boers boiled over.
"How dare you!" he raged out.

"Keep your distance, you contemptible cur, or, prisoner though I am, I'll give you such a thrashing as shall make you yell for mercy!" "Hullo! What does this mean ?" said one of the Boer officers, closing up, followed by the others.
"The prisoner is a bit saucy!" said Anson contemptuously.

"You did not bleed him enough!" "You know these two ?" asked the officer.
"Well, in a way," said Anson, in a haughty, indifferent tone.

"They were a pair of underlings where I was engaged at the diamond-mines.
Insolent bullying fellows, both of them! But you'll tame them down." The Boer leader nodded.
"A bit sore at being taken prisoners!" he said.
"No," cried West; "it is the fortune of war, sir.