And without further discussion the two young men buckled on their belts and followed Captain Roby, who, while the colonel's other instructions were being carried out, marched his men down to where some of the Boer party, well-guarded by the outposts, could be dimly seen squatted about or seated on the fronts of two well-loaded wagons, whose teams were tying down contentedly chewing the cud. Four more Boers kept the sheep and oxen in the rear of the wagons from straying away in search of a place to graze, for there was a tempting odour of fresh green herbage saluting their nostrils, along with the pleasant moisture rising from the trickling water hurrying away towards the gully where it found its way into the river. "What do you say to telling Roby to set a man to probe the sacks with a fixed bayonet?" "It would be wise," whispered back Lennox. "Tchah!" sneered Dickenson. "How could a fellow exist under one of those sacks of corn? Why, they must weigh on to a couple of hundredweight." "I don't care; there's some dodge, Bob, I'm sure." "Artful dodge, of course. Here, let's see if we know the fellows again." "Very well; but be on your guard." "Bother! Roby and his men will mind we are not hurt." As he spoke Dickenson led the way close up to the roughly-clad Boers about the wagons, where, in spite of the darkness, the face of their leader was easy to make out as he sat pulling away at a big German pipe well-filled with a most atrociously bad tobacco, evidently of home growth and make. "Hullo, old chap!" said Dickenson heartily; "so you've thought better of it?" The Boer looked at him sharply, and, recognising the speaker, favoured him with a nod. "Brought us some provender?" continued Dickenson; and he received another nod. "What have you got?" The Boer wagged his head sidewise towards the wagons and herds, and went on smoking. "Well done; that's better than trying to pot us. But, I say, what about your commando fellows? What will they say when you go back?" The Boer took his pipe out of his mouth and stuffed a finger into the bowl to thrust down the loose tobacco. "Nothing," he said shortly. "Not going back." "What!" cried Lennox, joining in after pretty well satisfying himself that there could be no danger in the unarmed Boers and their wagons. "What's what?" said the Boer sourly. "You're not going back?" cried Dickenson, staring. "Well, we can't go back, of course. If we tried they'd shoot us, wouldn't they?" The reply seemed to be unanswerable, and Dickenson merely uttered a grunt, just as Captain Roby and his men marched up to form an escort for the little convoy. "Well, commandant?" he said. The Boer grunted. "Not commandant," he said; "field-cornet." "Very well, field-cornet; how did you manage to get here?" "'Cross the veldt," growled the man. "Didn't you see any of your friends?" "No," grumbled the Boer. "If we had we shouldn't be here. Have you got the money for what we've got?" "No."