I must speak.

This--" A sharp report from behind the wagon checked further words, and every man made a rush for this place or that in full expectation that a sudden attack had been made upon the laager within the rocky walls.
At the same moment a Kaffir of the blackest type and with his hair greased up into the familiar Zulu ring bounded into sight, tripped, fell upon his hands, sprang up again, ran on, and disappeared, whilst a rush was made for the man who fired, leaving Anson and the prisoners together.
The next minute West's blood felt as if it was running cold in his veins as he saw, only a few yards from him and close to the stone upon which his jacket had been stretched, the sentry slowly re-loading his pistol.
But the coat was gone.
West had hard work to repress a groan.

"My orders were to fire at anyone I saw stealing," said the man surlily, and West heard every word.
"Well, who was stealing ?" asked one of the officers.
"A Kaffir," replied the sentry.

"I'd got a jacket stretched out upon the stones yonder, to get aired in the sunshine, and I only took my eyes off it for a minute, when I saw a foot rise up from behind a stone, grab hold of the coat with its toes--" "Nonsense!" cried the officer; "a foot could not do that!" "Not do it ?" said the man excitedly.

"It had to do it; and it was creeping away, when I fired, and the black sprang up and ran." "Where's the jacket ?" The officer's question woke an echo in West's breast, and he started, for it was just as if the question was repeated there, and it seemed to be echoed so loudly that he fancied those near must have heard it.
"He's got it, I suppose," said the sentry coolly.