"Paddy send," he said, as he poked a soft parcel into Weldon's dangling hand."He say 'Give it to little Canuck.'"Weldon felt and tasted his way into the parcel.It was large, and filled with savory bits which Paddy must have gleaned here and there from the general mess, robbing freely from many a greater man, all for the sake of the "little Canuck."It was no time for the discipline which bids a servant eat of the crumbs from his master's table.For the hour, Kruger Bobs and he were friends, bound upon one and the same errand.With impartial hand, Weldon tore the paper across and divided its contents.He only regretted that convention had forbidden him the trick of smacking his lips in sign of relish.It would have been good to have the ability of Kruger Bobs to give audible token of his appreciation of Paddy's bounty.
Somewhat refreshed, he straightened in his saddle.
"Now be careful, Kruger Bobs.There are Boers in these hills," he warned his companion; "and it would never do for us to be sniped."Kruger Bobs came close to his side.
"Dutchmans kill Kruger Bobs, no matter; kill Boss, no take despatch.
Boss say to Kruger Bobs where de despatch.Kruger Bobs take him to Krugersdorp, if Boss die."And Weldon shivered a little, as the silence dropped again.
The ridges were steeper now, and came in more swift succession, as the horsemen plodded wearily along the southern slope of the Rand.
Piggie was breathing heavily; and Weldon, clinging to his saddle with the purely mechanical grip of the exhausted rider, halted again and again to rest the plucky little animal whose best was always his for the asking.Of his own condition he took no heed.It was all in the game.He would play the game out as long as he could; but his last move should be, as his first had been, strictly according to rule.Meanwhile, for two facts he was at a loss to account.Dawning was still hours distant.Nevertheless, the darkness before him was blotted and blurred with alternating waves of blue and gray.The veldt was empty; yet, above the roar of the rain around him, an odd purring sound was in his ears.Then everything lost itself in his determination not to allow the saddle to slip from between his tired knees.
He roused himself at the challenging voice of a picket.
"Despatches for General Kekewich," he answered, in a voice which seemed to his own ears to have come from miles away.
"Advance and give the countersign."
Irritably he gathered himself together.
"I can't, I tell you.I don't know your blasted countersign.I've despatches from Dixon to General Kekewich.Take me to him at once."The colloquy lasted for moments, in a drawn battle of determination.
Its stimulus had waked Weldon from his lethargy; it had also waked again that fierce and throbbing pain below his knee.He left the sentry in no doubt, either of the truth of his statement, or of his mood.Then, with Kruger Bobs at his side, he plodded forward towards the lights of the town, while he braced himself for a final effort.
Fifteen minutes later, he reached the second line of pickets.The gray broncho's head drooped pitifully, as Weldon sat waiting for the inevitable challenge.It came at last; and Weldon's answering voice was slow with a weakness which was not all feigned.
"Despatches from Dixon's column.Take me to the Commandant, please."He was dimly aware of a hand on his bridle, dimly conscious that Piggie was being led forward for a seemingly endless distance.As they halted in front of a gray stone building, Weldon dimly heard the tingling of many bells within, then the hurried opening of a window, and a voice demanding the cause of the disturbance below.He felt himself going fast; but, gripping his will with all his might, he pulled himself together long enough to answer,--"Despatches for General Kekewich between the soles of my left boot."Then he pitched forward on his broncho's neck.
