The party then went out at the back; but my captor, who was last, turned back and said: "There are two sentries with loaded rifles at each end, and they have orders to fire." "What did he say, Val?" asked Denham as soon as we were alone. I told him, and he laughed softly. "What is it?" I said wonderingly. "I was only thinking," he replied. Then quickly, "Will they bind our hands again--at the last?" "I don't know," I said in a low, husky voice. "Perhaps not." "Let's hope not; and we must rub some feeling into them first." "What are you thinking about?" I asked. "Don't you know, old fellow? Guess." I shook my head. "Well, it is hard work; but look here: they didn't search us last night, only tied us hand and foot. We've got our revolvers inside our shirts. Let's have one shot each at Moriarty before we die." I looked at him wonderingly, for the vivid dream of the night came back, and my brother's words seemed to be thrilling hotly in my ear once more. Denham looked at me curiously. "Well," he said, "wouldn't you like to shoot the wretch?" "No," I said; "not now. If we are to die I don't want to try to kill any more." Denham frowned, and sat gently rubbing his wrists. I followed his example during nearly an hour. While thus employed we could hear a good deal of bustle and noise going on in the neighbourhood of the wagon, and sundry odours which floated in suggested that the Boers in camp did not starve themselves. Meanwhile we were very silent and thoughtful, expecting that at any moment we might be summoned to meet our fate. At last there was the sound of approaching steps, and I drew my breath hard as an order was given to halt, followed by the rattle of rifles being grounded. I was unable to speak then, but held out my hand quickly to Denham, who seized it in both of his, and his lips parted as if to say good-bye, yet no words were uttered. The next moment he let my hand drop and turned his eyes away, for the big Boer who had become so familiar now climbed into the wagon, glanced at us, and then reached down outside for two large pannikins of hot coffee, which he carefully lifted inside. "Here," he said gruffly; "help to keep up your spirits." He set the tins beside us, then went to the back of the wagon and reached down again for a couple of large, newly-baked cakes, which he handed to us. "The Irish captain didn't give any orders," he said; "but we don't starve our prisoners to death." With that he scowled at us in turn, and left the wagon. "Toll me what he said, Val," whispered Denham in a tone of voice which sounded very strange. With difficulty I repeated in English what the man had said; I felt as if choking. "I wish they hadn't done this, Val," said Denham after a minute's interval. "It seems like a mockery." I nodded, then remarked, "That man seems to have some feeling in him." "Yes; but we can't eat and drink now." "No," I replied. "I feel as if food would choke me."