"Weldon?"
He looked up in a half-dazed fashion. The wall of smoke was already
shutting down about the retreating Boers. Beside him stood the
Captain, his yellow hair clinging to his dripping face, his blue
eyes, under their fringe of black lashes, glittering like polished
gems. Coated as he was with dust and sweat, his clothing torn and
spotted with the fray, he looked ten times more the gallant
gentleman, even, than when he had met Weldon in the heart-shaped
bit of lawn encircled by the Dents' driveway. Now he held out his
hand.
"Splendidly done, old man! One doesn't forget such things."
CHAPTER NINE
Captain Frazer had scarcely finished speaking, when the voice of the
General sounded in their ears.
"A plucky attack and a plucky defeat, Captain Frazer. Kemp is a man
worth fighting. You are not wounded?"
"Thanks to Trooper Weldon," the Captain told him, with a smile.
The General's keen glance included them both.
"Good! And now can you spare me a trusty man? One who can ride? I
must have some despatches at Krugersdorp before midnight. I should
like some one from your squadron."
The eyes of Captain Frazer and Weldon met.
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