it, at least have a run for his money.

"I shall go on alone," he whispered.

He heard the footsteps of his two friends move away from him
across the play yard. At the same moment he stepped boldly out
into the garden and, passing the open windows of the house,
walked down the gravel path to the street. Not five yards from the
gate stood a sentry. Most of those guarding the school-house knew
him by sight, but Churchill did not turn his head, and whether the
sentry recognized him or not, he could not tell.

For a hundred feet he walked as though on ice, inwardly shrinking
as he waited for the sharp challenge, and the rattle of the Mauser
thrown to the "Ready." His nerves were leaping, his heart in his
throat, his spine of water. And then, as he continued to advance,
and still no tumult pursued him, he quickened his pace and turned
into one of the main streets of Pretoria. The sidewalks were
crowded with burghers, but no one noticed him. This was due
probably to the fact that the Boers wore no distinctive uniform,
and that with them in their commandoes were many English
Colonials who wore khaki riding breeches, and many Americans,
French, Germans, and Russians, in every fashion of semi-uniform.

If observed, Churchill was mistaken for one of these, and the very
openness of his movements saved him from suspicion.

Straight through the town he walked until he reached the suburbs,
the open veldt, and a railroad track. As he had no map or compass
he knew this must be his only guide, but he knew also that two