I don't know what will have happened when the war is over, but at present I don't wear a wooden leg.

Oh, my knee! I didn't think your fingers were made of bone." "I beg your pardon, old fellow!" "Don't name it, lad! I'm very glad you have so much energy in you, and proud of my powers of enduring such a vice-like--or say vicious--grip without holloaing out.

Next time try your strength on Anson! Why, your fingers would almost go through his fat." "Ingle, we must try it to-night." "Or the first opportunity." "Why didn't you think of that before we lost the despatch ?" "Hah! Why didn't I?
Suppose it didn't come!" West rose and crept to the end of the wagon and looked out.
"The ponies are still there," he whispered, and then he started violently, for a voice at the other end of the wagon cried: "Hallo, you two!" West turned, with his heart sinking, convinced that the man must have heard.
"I'm just off sentry!" the Boer said good-humouredly.

"I must have shaved that Kaffir somewhere and not hurt him much.

As soon as I was relieved I went and had a good look for him; but there wasn't so much as a drop of blood." "Poor wretch!" thought West.
"Lucky for him!" said Ingleborough, in Dutch.
"But I made the beggar drop the jacket," said the Boer, laughing; and, to the delight of the prisoners, he sent it flying into the wagon.
That was all, and the sentry strode away, just as West bounded upon the recovered garment like a tiger upon its prey.
"Say bless him!" whispered Ingleborough.
"Oh, Ingle!" groaned his companion, in a choking voice: "I can feel the despatch quite safe." "Hah!" ejaculated Ingleborough.
"And such a little while ago I was ready to curse fate and the very hour I was born!" "And very wrong of you too, my son!" said Ingleborough, in tones which betrayed some emotion.