"Are there two Val Morays in the world?" murmured poor Denham, with something which sounded very much like a sob. Lying perfectly still, I made no answer. I knew that the knife had set my ankles free; but they were still tethered, not by raw-hide rope but with insensibility, as if perfectly dead. "They will come right in time," I thought, my heart meanwhile beating fast. "Bob will tell us what to do. Will it be to make our escape when the attention of the Boer sentries is taken off us by the coming attack upon the fort?" Then I was listening to a low tearing sound as of the knife passing once more through the skin-rug, and directly after I heard Denham begin to breathe hard. I understood what that meant. Making a slight effort, as I lay covered up, I brought my arms out from beneath me, numbed and aching but not powerless, and thrust my left hand inside my flannel shirt, my fingers coming in contact with the butt of my revolver. "My hands are free, Val," Denham whispered faintly. "Feel for your revolver," I whispered back. "Hist! Careful"--for I could plainly hear the Boer sentries coming towards the wagon again, and the faint cutting noise ceased as the talking stopped. One of the men placed his hand on the back of the great vehicle, and was in the act of climbing in, doubtless to examine our fastenings again. My left hand now clutched my revolver tightly, though I knew that we could do nothing, in our helpless state, to save ourselves. "Oh, how hard!" I thought; "just when there was a chance of life!" Then my breath seemed to stop short, for the sound of a shot came to us from out of the distance where the Boer advance must be. This checked the climbing Boer. Then another shot, and another. He had dropped back to join his companions, who were doubtless gazing towards the fort, where the firing was rapidly increasing into a perfect storm. I heard no more of the cutting; but Denham whispered that his feet were free, and almost at the same moment a hand felt for my face and then seized my ear as if to pull it down to the owner of that hand. Understanding what was wanted, I turned over on my right side and laid my ear against the opening, listening. "Don't try to get up," buzzed into it, and seemed to set my brain whirling. "The Boers are making a great attack on the fort, and you two must try and creep out while the sentries are listening to the firing. Can you both run?" "We could not stand up to save our lives," I whispered. "Our legs are quite numb and dead." "Then I must carry you to where father is waiting," was whispered. I uttered a low sigh of misery, for I knew that was impossible. The Boers must hear the movements, even if so young a lad as my brother had possessed sufficient strength. "Lie still, and sham sleep," was the advice from below. "Your legs will get better. The Boers won't be back for hours yet. Hark!"