The sergeant smiled, and then for a time all lay perfectly still, fully expecting that one or other of the many bullets which came whizzing by would find its billet; but though there were several very narrow escapes, no one was hit, and though the enemy in front had greatly lessened the distance, their bullets struck no nearer. But the men grew very impatient under the terrible strain, and all three kept on turning their heads to watch their officer, who lay frowning, his rifle in front and his chin supported by his folded arms. "Ah!" came at last, in an involuntary sigh of relief from all three, as they saw Dickenson alter his position after the enemy had made a fresh and perceptible decrease in the distance between them by urging their ponies forward, the men's legs being strongly marked, giving the ponies the appearance of being furnished with another pair, as their riders stood taking aim and resting their rifles across the saddles. But no order to fire came from Dickenson, who still remained quiet. Then all at once: "Sergeant," he said, "I've practised a great deal with the sporting rifle, but done very little of this sort of thing myself. I'm going to try now if I can't stop this miserable sneaking approach of the enemy." The men gave a hearty cheer. "I'm sorry for the poor ponies," he said, "for I think this range will be well within the power of the service arm." "Yes, sir, quite," said the sergeant promptly. Dickenson was silent once again, and they saw him taking a long, careful aim at the nearest Boer. The effect of his shot was that the pony he had aimed at sprang forward, leaving a Boer visible, facing them in astonishment before he turned to run. "Fire!" said Dickenson, and three shots followed almost instantaneously, while the running Boer was seen lying upon the earth. "Be ready!" said Dickenson, aiming now at another of the ponies, and paying no heed to six or seven replies from the exasperated Boers. The pony now fired at reared up, and in the clear sunshine the man who was aiming across it was seen to be crushed down by the poor animal's fall, and he did not rise again. Once more Dickenson's rifle rang out, and he shifted it back now to his right, to fire his fourth shot almost without aiming. As the smoke cleared away by the time the young officer had replaced the exploded cartridges, one pony could be seen struggling on the ground, another was galloping away, while two men were crawling backward on hands and knees. "It seems like butchery, sergeant," said Dickenson, taking another long aim before firing again. "Missed!" "No, sir: I saw the pony start," said the sergeant eagerly. "There, look at him!" For the two men cheered on seeing the pony limp for a few yards and then fall, just beyond where his master was lying stretched out on his face. "Poor brute!" said Dickenson in a low voice.