chestnut mare had gained a length on my little veldt pony, and we were not
more than a hundred yards away from the Mauser rifles that had closed in on
us from the kopjes. A voice called in good English: "Throw up your hands,
you d---- fools." But the galloping fever was on us both, and we only
crouched lower on our horses' backs, and rode all the harder, for even a
barn-yard fowl loves liberty.

All at once I saw my comrade throw his hands up with a spasmodic gesture.
He rose in his stirrups, and fairly bounded high out of his saddle, and as
he spun round in the air I saw the red blood on the white face, and I knew
that death had come to him sudden and sharp. Again the rifles spoke, and
the lead was closer to me than ever a friend sticks in time of trouble, and
I knew in my heart that the next few strides would settle things. The black
pony was galloping gamely under my weight. Would he carry me safely out of
that line of fire, or would he fail me? Suddenly something touched me on
the right temple; it was not like a blow; it was not a shock; for half a
second I was conscious. I knew I was hit; knew that the reins had fallen
from my nerveless hands, knew that I was lying down upon my horse's back,
with my head hanging below his throat. Then all the world went out in one
mad whirl. Earth and heaven seemed to meet as if by magic. My horse seemed
to rise with me, not to fall, and then--chaos.

When next I knew I was still on this planet I found myself in the saddle
again, riding between two Boers, who were supporting me in the saddle as I
swayed from side to side. There was a halt; a man with a kindly face took
my head in the hollow of his arm, whilst another poured water down my
throat. Then they carried me to a shady spot beneath some shrubbery, and
laid me gently down. One man bent over me and washed the blood that had
dried on my face, and then carefully bound up my wounded temple. I began to
see things more plainly--a blue sky above me; a group of rough, hardy men,