Meanwhile, one of the natives was riding round to the left, evidently with the object of getting a flanking shot into the defenders’ position. Guy had no intention of being thus outflanked. He realized that his opponents meant business, and that this was no time for leniency, or any half-hearted measures. The mounted native came round within less than two hundred yards. As he turned and pulled up his horse, in order to fire from the saddle, Guy got a fair bead on him, and, pulling trigger, sent a bullet into the man’s shoulder. The native staggered in his saddle, dropped his rifle with a loud yell, and, sorely wounded, lay forward upon the neck of his horse and rode off. Circling away from the dangerous proximity of the islet, the man rejoined his master, and fell fainting to the soil. Poeskop was delighted with the success of the defence thus far. The group of assailants was now some three hundred and fifty yards away, but a well-judged bullet from the Bushman’s rifle struck the wounded native’s horse, and completed the discomfiture of the party. Karl Engelbrecht, cursing the young Englishman and his assistant, and swearing horrible vengeance at some future time, now deemed it well to retreat. A dead and wounded horse, and a badly injured native, was sufficient punishment for him. Tying up his man’s wound, and putting him upon the spare horse, the Boer and his party now drew sullenly off, their retreat hastened by the figures of two horsemen which they descried far off upon the plain behind Guy and Poeskop. On the way back to their mountain retreat, Minho rode a little off the route to secure the Englishman’s unfortunate horse, which was now grazing on the veldt. Finding that the poor beast was too lame to travel, he shot it dead. This brutal act was witnessed by Poeskop from a tree into which he had climbed. "Poor Blesbok," said Guy, at the intelligence. "I’ll do my best to make things level with the brutes. I’m sorry now I didn’t shoot Engelbrecht instead of his horse. I had a fair chance, and let it go. As for that Portuguese cur, I’ll be even with him, somehow or other." "My baas," returned Poeskop, grinning in high contentment, "if you’ll take my advice, you’ll never give Karl Engelbrecht another chance in this world. You might as well offer a good joint of meat to a stinking hyæna. If you don’t watch it and kill Karl, he’ll kill you. I know him. He’ll never rest till he has another slap at us. Never mind; we’ve bested him this time, and we’ll best him again...... Hurrah! here come Baas Blakeney and Baas Tom. They’ll be pleased, anyway." Guy and the Bushman stepped out of the covert which had proved so timely a refuge for them, and, waving their rifles, drew the attention of the two horsemen, who were now cantering towards them. In twenty minutes they were together once more. *Chapter XV.* *THE KLOOF.*