"They're on the lookout after the advance," whispered Denham. "It seems to be very dark outside. I believe it will not be long before we hear the attack begin." "No; they'll wait till our men are asleep." "Perhaps," said Denham; "but it must be getting late. Our fellows may be asleep now." "Yes," I replied, with a sigh; and then irritably, "Why did you do that? You can whisper." "What do you mean?" he asked after a pause. "Hitting me on the hands like that. You hurt me dreadfully." "I didn't--" he began; but I stopped him with an excited "Hush!" and lay perfectly still, the perspiration starting out all over me. "What is it?" whispered Denham, after waiting for some time. "What's that gnawing and tearing sound?" "Something under the wagon," I replied very softly. "A lion?" he whispered. "No; some one as brave as a lion. He has been cutting a long slit in the _karosse_, and now he has hold of my wrists with one hand, and he's sawing with a knife through the thong with the other." "Val!" panted the poor fellow wildly. The hot perspiration on my face turned icily cold at this cry, for I heard a quick movement among the sentries, and two of them sprang up on the wagon to look at us lying there upon our backs beneath the upper _karosse_, under the yellow light of the lantern. I thought now all was over; the new hope had faded out into darkness; but a measure of confidence returned when Denham, feigning sleep, muttered, and uttered a sob which ended in a low, uneasy groan. My eyes not being quite shut, I could dimly see through the narrow slit the faces of two of the Boers, one showing his teeth in a grin as they drew back and returned to their companions, when the talking began again. As this went on I felt the sawing movement of the knife being resumed, the two active hands which had been passed between the slits in the wagon-bottom working more rapidly. Then there was a pause, and I felt terrible pain as something thin and hard was passed under one of the bands before the sawing recommenced. I could hardly repress a cry of pain; but silence meant perhaps liberty and life. I knew, too, that it was a piece of iron that had been thrust in for the knife to cut down upon and save my wrist from a wound. Just then Denham whispered, "I couldn't help it, old chap; but I cheated them afterwards. Is he still cutting?" "Yes; he has gone through the reins on my wrists, and has begun at my ankles." "Val," whispered Denham again, with his face below the great rug, "it's that big black angel of a fellow, Joeboy." "No," I said softly, though I could hardly utter my thoughts, my voice panting with emotion. "It's not Joeboy: the hands are too small. It's my brother come to our help." I knew now that my previous night's experience was not a dream, and that Bob really was in the Boer camp with my father, and had crept under the wagon and whispered hope.