CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
EVERYTHING COMES TO THE MAN WHO WAITS.
What seemed like a couple of the weariest hours they had ever passed went slowly by, with everything quite still in the laager; and at last West, who was lying on his back, side by side with his companion, whispered: "They're not going on patrol to-night.

We must creep out and escape on foot." "Without knowing the way through the entrance among the rocks, and with dozens of sentries about?
Can't be done!" "Pst!" whispered West, for his quick hearing had detected the approach of someone, and directly after a light was flashed in under the tilt, a little whispering followed after the dull rays were shut off, and once more there was silence.
The pair lay a good five minutes without attempting to move or speak, and then West whispered: "Two sentries." "No: one and Fathead." "How do you know?
I daren't look, for fear they should see the gleam of my eyes." "I could smell him." "Scented--out here ?" "Yes; I believe he'd put some scent on his handkerchief and some pomatum on his hair even if he were going to be shot." "Hist! Listen," said West quickly; "they're on the stir." Ingleborough started up, for a voice was heard giving an order, and it was as if a stick had suddenly been thrust into a beehive and stirred round.
"Right!" said Ingleborough, in a low tone.

"Now's our time! Take a long deep breath, and let's make the plunge.

It will be all right if you keep close to me!" West instinctively drew a long breath without thinking of his companion's advice, for it was to him like a reflection of old boyish days when he summoned up his courage to take a plunge into deep water while wanting faith in his powers as a swimmer.

But it was only the making of the plunge.
Following Ingleborough, he dropped off the end of the wagon, boldly led him to the rifles, and together in the darkness they slipped on the bandoliers, two each, crossbelt-fashion, slung their rifles behind, put on their broad felt hats well down over their eyes, and then, imitating the Boer's heavy slouching walk, they hurried on through the laager in the direction of the horses.
It was, if possible, darker than ever, and they passed several Boers, quite half of whom were leading horses, and one of them startled and encouraged them by growling out in Dutch: "Now then--look sharp, my lads!" "We will!" whispered Ingleborough, as soon as they had passed on; "but oh, if the ponies are gone!" In another minute they knew that they were still safely tethered as they had seen them last, while a little search at the end of the empty wagon brought busy hands in contact with their saddles and bridles.
"Oh, it's mere child's play!" whispered Ingleborough, as they hurried back to the ponies, which recognised their voices and readily yielded to being petted, standing firm while the saddles were clapped on and they were girthed.
"Ready ?" said West.
"Yes.