He took no note of passing moments, none of the miles he had ridden
during the past days. These counted for naught, while, with
photographic distinctness, the picture before him fixed itself
sharply in his mind: the dust-colored troops on the dusty veldt, the
brown-painted guns, the distant line of the enemy's fire and, far to
the eastward, the wall of smoke which was fast sweeping towards them
from the acres of burning veldt.
"Captain Frazer, the General orders you to take up your position in
the kraal on the extreme right, and to hold it at any cost."
From his place at the Captain's side, Weldon glanced at the orderly,
then, turning, looked across the veldt to the four gray walls
surrounding the clump of trees a mile away. His hand tightened on
the curb, and he straightened in the saddle, as the Captain led the
way into the purgatory beyond, an orderly purgatory, but crossed
with leaden lines of shot and shell.
At such moments, the brain ceases to act coherently. When Weldon
came to himself, he was kneeling behind the old gray wall, revolver
in hand, firing full in the faces of the Boer horsemen, scarce
fifteen feet away. Carew, his right foot dangling, had been hustled
to the rear of the kraal where the gray broncho and her mates were
in comparative shelter.
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