Denham and I slept pretty close to one another in one of the barns that night, revelling in the thick covering of mealie-leaves which formed our bed. Sweet, fresh, and dry, it seemed glorious; but I did not sleep soundly all the time for thinking of what might happen to us during the darkness. Once it was whether the farmer would send on messengers to bring back the Boer party who had preceded us, and give us an unpleasant surprise. Another time, as I lay on my back peering up at the openings in the corrugated-iron roof through which the stars glinted down, I found myself thinking of how horrible it would be if an enemy's hand thrust in a lighted brand; and in imagination I dwelt upon the way the dry Indian-corn leaves would burst into a roaring furnace of fire, in which some of us must perish before we could fight our way out. It was not a pleasant series of thoughts to trouble one in the dead of the night, and just then I heard a sigh. "Awake, Denham?" I whispered. "Yes--horribly," he replied. "I say, smell that?" "What?" I replied, feeling startled. "Some idiot's lit his pipe, and we shall all be burned in our--beds, I was going to say: I mean in this mealie straw." "I can't smell it," I said. "What! Haven't you got any nose?" "Yes: I smell it now," I said; "but it's some one outside--one of the sentries, I think." "Don't feel sure--do you?" "Yes, I do now. Strict orders were given that no one was to smoke in the barns." "Did you hear the order given?" "Yes; and Sergeant Briggs muttered about it, and said it would serve the old Boer right if his hams were burned down." "So it would," said my companion; "but I don't want us to be burned in them. Oh dear!" "What's the matter?" I said. "I wish this old war was over, and the same wish comes every night when I can't sleep; but in the daytime I feel as different as can be, and begin desiring that we could overtake the Boers and all who caused the trouble, and give them such a thrashing as should make them sue for peace. I say--" "Yes," I replied. "That's all. Good-night. I can't smell the smoking now." Neither could I. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. WE MAKE A DISCOVERY. "Oh, I don't like it; I don't like it," cried Denham to me, as he rode up to my side while we were cantering over the veldt one day. "We always seem to be running away." "Manoeuvring," I said, with a laugh. "Oh, hang so much manoeuvring!" he muttered. "The Boers set it all down to cowardice, and hold us in contempt." "It doesn't matter what they think," I said, as we rode on over the splendid open highland, with the brisk bracing air whistling past our ears, and our horses seeming thoroughly to enjoy the run; "we've shown the enemy time after time that we are not cowards." "But we're running away again; we're running away again."