"Two less," said Drew in a husky whisper, while _crack! crack_! went the Boer rifles, and a peculiar shattering echo arose from the far side of the river as the bullets flattened upon the rocks or cut the bushes like knives; while from being few in number they rapidly became more, those of the enemy who had been searching the gully down which the young men had come now concentrating their fire upon the little cluster of rocks and trees behind which they were hidden. "Don't waste a cartridge, Bob lad," said Lennox, whose voice sounded strange to his companion, "and hold your magazine in case they try a rush." "Or for those fellows who'll come round by the ford," replied Dickenson. "Never mind them. The firing will bring our lads out, and they'll tackle those gentlemen." "All right.--Ah! I've been waiting for you, my friend," whispered Dickenson, and he fired quickly at one of the enemy who was creeping along towards a spot from which he probably thought he would be able to command the spot where the young Englishmen lay. But he never reached it. He just exposed himself once for a few moments, crawling like a short, thick snake. Then his rifle was jerked upwards to the full extent of the poor wretch's arm and fell back. He made no other movement, but lay quite still, while the rifles around him cracked and the bullets pattered faster and faster about where the two young men were hidden. "I say, how queer your voice is!" said Dickenson. "Not hurt, are you?" "No, and yes. This hurts me, Bob lad. I almost wish I wasn't such a good shot." "I don't," muttered the other. "I want to live." Then aloud, "Don't talk like that, man! It's their lives or ours. Hit every one you can.--Phew! that was near my skull. I say, I don't call this coming fishing." He turned towards his comrade with a comical look of dismay upon his countenance after a very narrow escape from death, a bullet having passed through his cap, when _whizz! whizz! whirr_! half-a-dozen more bullets passed dangerously near. "Mind, for goodness' sake!" shouted Lennox, in a voice full of the agony he felt. "Don't you see that you are exposing yourself?" "What am I to do?" cried the young officer angrily. "If I lean an inch that way they fire at me, and if I turn this way it's the same." "Creep closer to the stone." "Then I can't take aim." "Then don't try. We've got to shelter till their firing brings help." "Oh, it's all very fine to talk, Drew, old chap, but I'm not going to lie here like a target for them to practise at without giving the beggars tit for tat.--Go it, you ugly Dutch ruffians! There, how do you like that?" He fired as he spoke, after taking careful aim at another, who, from a post of vantage, kept on sending his bullets dangerously near. "Did you hit?" asked Lennox. "I think so," was the reply. "He has backed away." "We must keep on firing at them," said Lennox; "but keep your shots for those who are highest up there among the trees."