Again and again I made up my mind to make him give a sudden bound; but the chances were that it would not snap the rein, only cruelly drag the poor fellow's mouth. And the minutes glided by, and the position grew more and more hopeless. Then, suddenly, I seemed to see the only possible way of getting clear. We rode with long reins, my father and I, and I began to wonder why I had not thought of putting my plan in action before. CHAPTER FIVE. A DASH FOR LIBERTY. As I have said, one of my reins was unbuckled, passed over the horse's neck, and buckled to the Boer's saddle-bow; and in consequence of the length of the strap, it hung down in a long curve when we were riding a fair distance apart, so I felt I had only to press my horse close alongside that of my companion to slacken the leather strap still further. My plan was almost a forlorn hope; but I could think of no other, and determined to try it, even if, as would probably be the case, it meant no more than dragging me suddenly from the saddle, to fall and be trampled among the horses' heels. Still, I was determined, and only waited now for the thrilling moment when I would try. We rode on for what seemed to me another mile, and still one moment seemed as good as another. I was ready to despair. Then the time came. The Boer at my side, having slung his cocked rifle over his shoulder, fumbled in the darkness for something. Guessing what my companion was about to do, with a slight pressure of my right leg I made Sandho edge gradually closer. I was quite right. He took out a big Dutch pipe and a pouch, proceeding to fill the bowl and press down the tobacco; and as he worked so did I. Edging Sandho nearer and nearer, with my heart beginning to beat with big, heavy throbs, I withdrew my left foot from the stirrup, lowered it down in front of the loosely-hanging rein, and, as soon as that was level with my ankle, twisted my foot again and again, till the rein was three times round. Then I felt the drag upon the Boer's saddle-bow, just as the man was getting a light; and at that moment my leg came in contact with his so suddenly that it jerked him, and the match he had struck went out. "Thunder and lightning!" he growled, kicking out to drive Sandho farther away, but missing him, for I had just thrust my toe back into the stirrup-iron and was pressing my horse away. The next minute scratch went another match, the bright light shining out for a moment between us so that I could see the man's face plainly as he held the burning splint between his hands on a level with his chin. Then it was out again, for with a loud, shrill cry I was urging Sandho to make his great effort--one which, as I have said, meant either freedom--if the escape of one bound as I was could be so regarded--or the horse galloping away and leaving me to be trampled under foot.