"That's to surround us, old man," said Dickenson. "The miserable liars! There isn't a man this side. But oh, my chest! You've knocked in some of my ribs."
"Hang your ribs! We must get that rifle."
"Wait till I get my wind back," panted Dickenson.--"Oh, what a fool I was to lay it down!"
"You were, Bobby; you were," said Drew quietly. "Here, hold mine, and I'll dash out and bring it back."
"No, you don't!" cried the young officer; and as he crouched there on all fours he bounded out like a bear, seized the rifle from where it lay, and rushed back, followed by the shouts and bullets of four or five Boers, who saw him, but not quickly enough to get an effective aim.
"Now call me a fool again," panted Dickenson, shuffling himself behind a stone.
It was Drew Lennox's rifle that spoke, not he, as in reply to the fire they had brought upon them he took careful aim and drew trigger, when one of the Boers sprang up fully into sight, turned half-round, threw up his rifle,
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