In the shock of the scrimmage that followed, there was scant time to
take thought of friend or of foe. On the heels of his new captain
as, of old, he had been on the heels of Captain Frazer, Weldon and
the gray broncho were in the thick of the fight. Then, as the Boers
sullenly fell backwards, Weldon became aware of a familiar voice in
his ears.
"Whisht, little feller! It's Paddy," the voice said in a spooky
undertone, as its owner ranged up alongside the gray broncho.
"Paddy!" Weldon stared at him in unfeigned astonishment. "What in
the name of heaven are you doing here, man?"
With perfect composure Paddy squared himself in the saddle.
"Little Canuck dear, as I told you before, heaven is a state of
eternal peace, and therefore an undesirable abode in these hot
times. I prefer a whiff of brimstone, myself; and, by the powers,
I've been getting, it." As he spoke, he took off his hat and showed
a neat trio of holes in the left brim.
"But how did you come here, Paddy?" Weldon asked again.
"Took your advice to heart, my jewel, kicked over my pan of fat and
jumped into the fire. Which, being put into straight English, I
swiped a horse and rode off with the rest of the boys on the tail of
the serpent.
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