"Load?" said Dickenson in a tone expressing his surprise. "Oh! of course;" and he gave the necessary command, taking the rifle handed to him by one of the men as they rode on. "I was thinking of our chances of finding the Boers out scouting. I suppose it is quite possible that we may run against a patrol." "More than likely, sir. They'll be eager enough to find out some way of paying back what we gave them to-day." "Of course, and--What does this mean?" whispered Dickenson, for his pony stopped short, as did the others, the sergeant's mount uttering a sharp, challenging neigh and beginning to fidget. "Means danger, sir," whispered the sergeant. "We loaded none too soon." There was nothing for it but to sit fast, peering into the wall of darkness that surrounded them, trying vainly to make out the approaching danger, every man listening intently. Fully ten minutes elapsed, and not a sound was heard. The ponies, well-trained by the Boers to stand, remained for a time perfectly motionless, till all at once, just as Dickenson was about to whisper to the sergeant that their mounts had probably only been startled by some wild animal of the desert, one of them impatiently stretched out its neck (drawing the hand holding the reins forward), snuffed at the earth, and began to crop at the stunted brush through which they were passing. The others immediately followed suit, and, letting them have their own way, the party sat once more listening in vain. Then came a surprise. All at once, from what Dickenson judged to be some fifty feet away, there was the peculiar _ruff! ruff! ruff! ruff_! of some one walking slowly through the low scrub, which there was not unlike walking over a heather-covered track. "Stand," cried the lieutenant sharply, "or we fire." "No. Hold hard," cried a familiar voice. "Who goes there? Dickenson, is that you?" "Lennox! Thank Heaven!" The steps quickened till he who made them came staggering up to the lieutenant's pony, at which he caught, but reached short, stumbled, and fell. The sergeant was off his pony in a moment, handing the reins to a companion, and helping the lost man to rise. "Are you all right?" said Dickenson excitedly as he reached down, felt for, and firmly grasped his friend's wet, cold hand. "All right?" said Lennox bitterly. "Well, as all right as a man can be who was about to lie down utterly exhausted, when he heard your pony." "But are you wounded?" "No; only been nearly strangled and torn to pieces. But don't ask me questions. Water!" A water-bottle was handed to the poor fellow, and they heard him drink with avidity. Then ceasing for a short space, he said, "I was just going to lie down and give it up, for I was completely lost." He began drinking again, and then, with a deep breath of relief: "Whose is this?" "Mine, sir," said the sergeant, and he took the bottle from the trembling outstretched hand which offered it.