Chapter 36 | Close Pursuit | A Dash From Diamond City

Hour after hour passed, and the chase continued over the wide rolling veldt, the fugitives making their course more and more westerly so as to hit the railway, hoping every time they reached the top of one of the wave-like ridges to find that they were close at hand.

But it was always the same—veldt, veldt, veldt, stretching on towards the horizon, with a village or farm once in a way, and the enemy always at the same distance behind, keeping doggedly on.

Twice over, though, the fugitives had scraps of encouragement from one of their pursuers pulling up, and in each case another drew rein and stopped with him.

At last a spruit was reached, with the fresh bubbling water tempting the escaping pair to alight in a way only to be understood by one who has been similarly situated.

It was just after the Boers had pulled up to let their horses walk after a long ascent, and they were still going on at the same pace, when West checked his pony.

“It’s of no use; we must drink,” he said. “Dismount, unsling your rifle, and get behind that stone and try and hold the enemy in check while I water the horses and fill the bottles.”

Ingleborough said nothing, only obeyed, and the next minute West was leading the ponies down to the shallow crossing, leaving his companion with his rifle-barrel resting upon the big stone that formed a natural breastwork.

Seeing that the pair had stopped, the Boers began to press forward, even after Ingleborough had fired twice; but the next shot made them pull up short, open out, and take up position, beginning to return the fire then.

A few minutes later the horses had had a good drink, the bottles were re-filled, and all was ready on the far side of the spruit for continuing the flight.

West shouted to his companion, who placed a block of stone about the size of his head upon the natural breastwork and fired twice, dropping down directly after and wading to the side of the gully, where he threw himself upon his breast, drank deeply, and then waded across to rejoin his companion. Then they were off again at a canter, getting a good quarter of a mile on their road before the Boers discovered by a careful flanking approach that they had given up their defence of the spruit and dashed on.

“They’ll be after us now at full speed!” said West, as he stood up in his stirrups gazing back.

“No,” said Ingleborough; “they’ll stop there, I daresay, for an hour to give their horses water and rest, thinking that they can lull us into the belief that they have given up the pursuit; and then they’ll come on again, following us steadily so as to trap us as soon as it is dusk.”

“I don’t think you are right,” said West; “but it is of no use to argue about it. We shall see!”

The day wore on and they saw nothing but the wide-spreading brown veldt, with no sign of the great river, no mountain ridge or other object familiar to Ingleborough during his travels through the country.

“No,” he said, in reply to a question from West, “I can’t make out anything, only that we are going south-west. The country is so big, you see. All I can say is that we must be going right. We’re making for the river, and we can’t do better. It may be many, many miles away still!”

“Well, let’s keep on. There’s one comfort: the enemy don’t seem to be after us.”

“No,” said Ingleborough, after a good look back, and speaking very drily; “they don’t seem to be, but I don’t trust them. They mean to run us down; but we’ll give them their work first.”

In this spirit the fugitives rode steadily on hour after hour till the evening came, and then there was nothing for it but to look out for some halting-place with cover and feed for the ponies.

“We can’t keep on without giving them a rest,” said Ingleborough; “for we may have to ride all day to-morrow.”

“What?” cried West. “You surely don’t think we’re so far off still?”

“I don’t know anything, lad,” replied Ingleborough; “for, as I said before, the country is so big, and it is quite possible that we may have two or three days’ journey before us yet.”

“But food—rest?” faltered West.

“My eyes are wandering everywhere in search of food,” replied Ingleborough, “and I keep on hoping to come upon a farmhouse somewhere in sight. That will mean food, either given, bought, or taken by threatening with our rifles. As to the rest, we’ll have that when we get into Kimberley.”

Night fell without a sign of spruit, pool, or farm; but it was a bright, clear time, with the stars giving them sufficient light to keep on in the hope that was growing desperate that they must soon come upon some stream. But they hoped in vain, and the ponies at last began to grow sluggish and indisposed to proceed whenever some patch of bush was reached in the midst of the dried-up expanse.

“There, it’s of no use,” said Ingleborough; “we may as well let the poor brutes browse upon such green shoots as they can find! They’ll be all the fresher for the halt. As for us, we must feed upon hope and the remembrance of the good things we have had in the past.”

“Don’t let’s give up yet!” replied West. “It is cool travelling, and every mile brings us nearer to safety.”

“Very well; but we shall find it hard work to get the ponies along.”

So they rode on, with their mounts growing more and more sluggish for a while, and then West suddenly uttered an exclamation.

“What is it?” cried Ingleborough. “Your nag?”

“Yes; he has suddenly begun to step out briskly.”

“So has mine,” said Ingleborough. “It’s all right. Give yours his head—they sniff water. I half fancy I can smell it myself; the air comes so cool and moist.”

Just then one of the ponies snorted, and the pair broke into a canter which lasted for about a quarter of a mile, when they dropped into a walk, for the ground was encumbered with stones; but almost directly a pleasant refreshing odour of moist greenery saluted the riders’ nostrils, and then the ground was soft and yielding beneath the ponies’ hoofs, then rough and gravelly, and the next minute the riders were gazing down at the reflected stars, which became blurred as the ponies splashed into water and then lowered their muzzles to drink.

“A great pool?” said West.

“No; hark!”

West listened, to hear the rippling trickle of running water.

“A river!” he said excitedly.

“Yes, and it may be the Vaal. If not, it will be one of the streams running into it.”

“And we must keep on this side and follow it down.”

“Well, no,” said Ingleborough, with a little laugh; “seeing that the Boers are after us, I think it will be safer to follow it down from the other side.”

“Very well! What shall we do—get down and wade?”

“I would rather keep dry,” replied Ingleborough. “Let’s wait till the ponies have drunk sufficient, and then try if it is safe enough for them to walk across. I think it will be, for you can hear how shallow it is!”

“Yes,” said West; “close in here; but what is it farther out?”

He stood up in his stirrups and followed the reflection of the stars for some distance.

“It’s a big river, Ingle,” he said, “and it would be madness to try and ford it in the dark.”

“Very well; let’s get a good drink as soon as the ponies have had their share, and then follow the river down till we come upon a place where they can graze and we can rest.”

This plan was followed out, the ponies being hobbled at a spot where there seemed to be plenty of feed, while amongst the dense bushes and rugged stones which barred their way a snug resting-place was soon found, where, after cautiously making their way down to the river bank and allaying their thirst, the fugitives lay down to rest, listening to the sound of falling water not far away. Then, in perfect forgetfulness of Boers, despatches, and all the dangers of their way, both dropped into the deep sleep produced by exertion—a sleep which lasted till the sun was once more beginning to flood the earth with light.