"'Tention!" cried the Sergeant. "Here. Files one and three mount guard front and rear of this dropsical timber-wagon. Two and four get some water. First aid here. Stop a minute. No; kneel down and just rub their legs gently as if you were trying to take out those furrows made by the ropes.--Why, your legs and feet are like stone, sir." "Are they?" said Denham, quietly now, as he reached forward to shake the Sergeant's hand. "I didn't know--I don't feel as if I had any legs at all. There," he added excitedly, "I want to shake hands with you all round. It's so much better than being shot in the morning." "Ay--ay!" cried the men eagerly. "Oh, never mind our hurts." "But we must, sir. I didn't know you were an orfficer at first," said the Sergeant. "I say, look at your head." "I can't," said Denham, with a faint attempt at mirth which was very pitiful. "Well, I can, sir, and you can look at your comrade's. Did the Boers do that too?" "No," cried Denham fiercely; "it was a brute of a renegade Irishman serving with the Boers." "Is he out yonder now, sir?" said the Sergeant, giving his head a side jerk in the direction from which, in the darkness, came the sound of cheering and scattered shots. "Yes, I believe so," said Denham. "Then I'm sorry for him, that's all," said the Sergeant dryly. "Ah! Do you think your men are whipping them?" "Think!" cried the Sergeant scornfully. "Think, sir? Why, we've got at 'em at last with the bay'net. They've been playing at shooting behind a stone and firing at a target--targets being us--till we've been sick of it, and then up on horse and gallop away; but we've got at 'em at last with the bay'net, and there's no need to think." "But," I cried excitedly, as I strained my ears to listen, "they're coming back." "Eh?" cried the Sergeant. "Here, files two and four support one and three. Hold your fire till they're close in, and then receive 'em on your bay'nets." The two men who were chafing our deadened ankles sprang to their places, while my brother reached out of the side of the wagon and dragged in two rifles, evidently their own, and Denham and I cocked the revolvers we had thrust back into our breasts. "That's good business, gentlemen," said the Sergeant grimly. "I like to see reinforcements when one's in a tight place." He patted Bob on the shoulder as my brother took his place beside the two soldiers at the front of the wagon, my father going to the back. "You can shoot, then, my lad?" "Oh yes," said Bob quietly. "My father taught me five years ago." "That's right," said the Sergeant, and he set the lantern on one side and covered it closely with one of the rugs. "Now, silence. We don't want to invite attack. Here they come! They're mounted men, and they may sweep past. Hear that bugle?" he said to me. "Yes," I replied, almost below my breath.