There was a curious hysterical ring in his loud laugh as, with the bullets whirring and whistling about him and a cross fire concentrated upon where he stood, he too leaped down, to begin running, while a burly-looking sergeant literally rolled over the wall, followed by two more men from the rear company, all plainly seen now dashing towards where Lennox was running here and there among the dead and wounded which dotted the sloping ground, before stopping suddenly to go down on one knee and begin lifting a wounded man upon his shoulder. "Well," cried the major, "he's the queerest coward I ever saw. I wish the colonel was here." His words brought forth a tremendous cheer from all who heard them, but the major turned upon the men angrily. "Shoot, you rascals, shoot!" he cried; "right and left. Keep down the savages' fire if you can." For, unmoved by the gallant actions going on in front, brave men setting death at defiance--as scores of others had done all through the war--in the noble endeavour to save a wounded man's life, dozens of the Boers began firing at the rescue party, heedless of the fact that their bullets crossed the narrow way traversed by the little force in their dash from the village to the kopje, and now horribly dotted by the wounded and dying of both sides who had fallen in the desperate encounter. Yells and shouts arose from both sides as the bullets took effect among friends; but in their mad hate against those whom they called the British rooineks, the Boers fired on. Fortunately, for the most part the wielders of the Mauser were not calmly lying down behind stones, with rests for their rifles, but were crowded together, nervous, agitated, and breathless with running, so that their bullets were badly aimed during the first minute or two. Directly after, they were startled by the hail poured upon them from the whole line of men behind the great wall--a hail of lead beneath which many fell never to rise again, while the greater part devoted themselves to seeking cover, crawling anywhere to get under the shelter of some stone. The roar, then, that greeted the little party struggling back was not from British throats but from British rifles, which for the time being thoroughly kept down the enemy's fire, till Lennox and Dickenson bore the insensible form of Roby right up to the wall, followed by Sergeant James and his two companions, each carrying a wounded comrade on his back. And now, without ceasing their firing, the line cheered till all were hoarse, while four men sprang over to Roby's help, the others being tumbled over, to be seized by willing hands. It was quite time, for both Lennox and Dickenson were spent--the former sinking upon his knees to hold on by one of the stones; Dickenson bending forward to try and wave one hand, but dropping suddenly across Roby's knees. "Wounded?" cried the major excitedly, as he bent over Lennox directly he was lifted in, the last of the four.