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"On the Firing Line"


They found the camp already humming like a hive of angry bees. A
small matter of forty miles a day counted for nothing to men wakened
from heavy sleep to face the firing of an invisible foe. There was
no need of the murmured report that De Wet had bidden his followers
break through the British chain wherever its links were weakest.
Instinctively each man threw himself into fighting array, convinced
that the present minute marked the climax of the past days.
And, meanwhile, the limitless darkness shut down over the determined
cordon of British men facing steadily inward towards the foe which
they could not see; over the scattered knots of Boer horsemen,
secure in their full knowledge of every yard of the ground, riding
forward to fight their way through the chain into the veldt beyond.
And, far to the northward, De Wet was lurking in shadow long enough
to cut the wires and then ride away with his trio of faithful
followers.
To Weldon, fresh from the darkness and silence of the open veldt, it
seemed as if, of a sudden, the frosty night were tattered into
shreds. As the fight waxed hot about him, he lost all memory of the
intermediate stages.


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