They meant more; for, as he saw the effect, the leader of the Boers shouted an order, and his men swerved off right and left, presenting their ponies' flanks to the British marksmen, who fired rapidly now, and with so good aim that two more ponies were badly hit, their riders leaping off to begin running after their comrades as hard as they could, while a third man fell over to one side, lay still for a few moments, and then struggled into a sitting position and held up his hands. "Don't fire at him!" cried Dickenson excitedly, and none too soon, for one of the men was taking aim. "Ha!" said the sergeant grimly as the Boers galloped back. "That'll take some of the bounce out of the gentlemen. One of them told us that our men didn't know how to shoot. I dare say if we'd had their training we might be able to bring down springboks as well as they can." "Yes; capital, capital, my lads!--Well, sergeant, I think we may go on again." "No, sir, no!" cried the man excitedly. "They don't know when they're beaten. Look at that." For as he spoke the two little parties joined up again into one, sprang off their ponies, and imitated Dickenson's manoeuvre, lying down and beginning to shoot at long-range. "I don't think they'll hurt us at that distance, sergeant," said Dickenson. "They'll hurt us if they can hit us, sir," replied the man; "but it's a long way, and with their hands all of a shake from such a bit as they've just gone through." All the same, though, the bullets began to whistle overhead; then one struck the ground about ten yards in front of the sergeant and ricocheted, passing so near that the whiz was startling. "That was well meant," he said coolly; "but I don't believe the chap who sent it could do it again." "Look at that poor fellow," said Dickenson suddenly. "'Fraid of being hit by us or them, sir," replied the sergeant. "Not a very pleasant place." For the Boer who had thrown up his hands in token of surrender had begun to crawl slowly and painfully to their right, evidently to get well out of the line of fire. The man was evidently hit badly, for he kept on sinking down flat on his face, and four times over a curious sensation of regret came over Dickenson, mingled with a desire to go to his help with such surgical aid as he could supply. But each time, just as he was going to suggest it to the sergeant, the man rose on all fours again and crawled farther away. "I don't think he's much hurt, sir. Going pretty strong now." The sergeant had hardly spoken before Dickenson uttered an ejaculation, for the wounded man suddenly dropped down flat again and rolled over, showing as one hand came into sight that he still grasped his rifle; and then he was completely hidden, as if he had sunk into some slight depression. "Dead!" sighed Dickenson solemnly. "Looks like it, sir," said the sergeant quietly. "Or exhausted by his efforts," said Dickenson. "Look here, sergeant, a man's a man."