The Kopje Garrison. George Manville Fenn

The Kopje Garrison - George Manville Fenn


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left ear, and I can feel something trickling down inside my collar.”

      “Oh Bob, old fellow!” cried Lennox.

      “Lie still, man! What are you going to do?”

      “Bind up the place.”

      “You won’t if you stir.”

      There was pretty good proof of this, for another shot whizzed between them. But he who sent it had been too venturesome in taking aim to revenge his comrade’s fall, and the result of Dickenson’s return shot was fatal, for he too sprang up into a kneeling posture, and they saw him for a few moments trying to rise to his feet, but only to fall over to the left, right in view of the two officers.

      Drew uttered a sigh of relief.

      “If we are to escape,” he said, “we must stop any one from getting into that position again.”

      “Look sharp, then,” said Dickenson, whose keen eyes detected a movement on the other side of the river. “There’s a chap creeping among the bushes on all fours.”

      “I see him,” cried Drew; and as he followed the enemy’s movements and took aim, Dickenson, who was in the better position for commanding them, followed his example.

      “Missed!” cried Drew angrily as he fired and the Boer raised a hand and waved it derisively.

      “Hit!” exclaimed Dickenson the next instant. For he too had fired, and with better aim, the Boer drawing himself together, springing up, and turning to run, but only to stagger the next minute and fall heavily among the bushes, which hid him from sight.

      “Now for the next,” continued Dickenson, coolly reloading. “Look out; I’m going to watch the other end.”

      He turned sharply as a fresh shower of bullets came scattering around them, and looked keenly at the granite rock and its burden, half-expecting to see a fresh occupant taking aim. But apparently no one seemed disposed to expose himself anew to the rifles of such deadly shots, and the terrible peril to which the two fishermen had been exposed ceased for the time being, though the pair waited in momentary expectation of its recurrence.

      But the enemy did not slacken their efforts to finish their task by easier means, and the firing from the front went on more briskly than ever, the young officers contenting themselves with holding theirs and displaying no excitement now, their shelter, so long as they lay close, being sufficient, the worst befalling them now being a sharp rap from a scrap of stone struck from the rocks, or the fall of a half-flattened bullet.

      “That’s right; don’t fire until we are in an emergency,” said Drew at the end of a few minutes.

      “In a what?” cried Dickenson.

      “In regular peril.”

      “Why, what do you call this?” cried Dickenson, with a laugh. “I made my will half-an-hour ago—in fancy, of course.”

      “Well, it is a hot corner,” said Drew, joining in his companion’s grim mirth; “but we haven’t got to the worst of it yet.”

      “What!” yelled Dickenson. “Oh Drew, old man, you are about the coolest fish in the regiment. It can’t be worse than it has been.”

      “Can’t it? Wait a few minutes, and the party who made for the ford will be at us.”

      “But they can’t get their horses down the way we came.”

      “No; but they can leave them with a fourth of their fellows to hold while they get somewhere within shot, and then we’re done. What do you say to tying a handkerchief to a rifle-barrel and holding it up? We’ve held out well.”

      “Nothing! What do you say?”

      “Same as you do; but I thought I’d give you the option if you did not feel as obstinate as I do.”

      “Obstinate? I don’t call it obstinate to hold out now. I’ve seen too many of our poor lads carried to the rear. Here,” continued the speaker, after feeling, “I haven’t used half my cartridges yet. Ask me again when they’re all gone, and then I’ll tell you the idea I’ve got.”

      “What is it? Tell me now.”

      “Very well. We’ll fire the last cartridge at the cowardly brutes—fifty at least to two—and then give them a surprise.”

      “What! walk out and hold up your hands?”

      “No; that would be a surprise, of course; but I’ve got a better.”

      “Let’s have it.”

      “Walk in.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Well, crawl, then, into the river. Get quietly in from behind some of the overhanging bushes, and float down with the stream.”

      “Wouldn’t do, Bobby; they wouldn’t trust us. They’d see us floating.”

      “They’d think we were dead.”

      “Not they. The Boers are too slim, as they call it, and would pump a few bullets into us. Besides, I have no fancy for being dragged down by a crocodile or grabbed by a hippo.”

      “Think there are any crocs?”

      “Plenty in some of the rivers.”

      “But the hippos, wouldn’t touch us, would they?”

      “Very likely. They don’t hesitate about seizing a canoe and crunching it in two. No, your plan won’t do, lad. I’d rather die ashore here.”

      “Dry?” said Dickenson quietly. “Well, I dare say it would be nicer. But there, we’re not quite cornered yet.”

      Crack went a bullet overhead, and a report came from a fresh direction almost simultaneously.

      “Wrong!” said Drew coolly. “We are cornered now. That’s the first shot from the men who have crossed to our side.”

      “All right; I’m ready for them. Let’s finish our cartridges.”

      “We will, Bob,” said Drew quite calmly, in spite of their extremity.

      “What do you want?” said Dickenson. “You haven’t used all your cartridges?”

      “No; only about half.”

      “Then why did you hold out your hand?”

      “Shake! In case,” said Drew laconically.

      “Sha’n’t! I’m not going to look upon the business as having come to that pitch yet. Look out; we ought to see some of them soon.”

      For shots were beginning to come about them to supplement those sent from across the river, but so ill directed that it was evident that their fresh assailants were guessing at their position below the perpendicular cliff-like bank.

      “This won’t hurt us,” said Dickenson coolly.

      “No; but some of them will be having their heads over the edge up there directly.”

      “They can’t while their friends are firing from the other side as they are. But when they do look down it will be rather awkward for the first two.”

      “Here, quick, look out, Bob!” cried Lennox, for the firing from the farther bank suddenly ceased, and the rustling and cracking of twigs somewhere overhead told that the fresh danger was very near.

      Dickenson’s reply to his companion’s order was to place himself quickly with his back to the rocks that had sheltered him, sitting with his rifle pointing upward.

      Drew took the same position, and none too soon; for, following closely upon the rustling sound, the makers of which were still invisible, a couple of shots were fired down at them, the bullets striking the stones just


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