A second bullet grazed his wrist, and a horseman swept down upon
him. For an instant, he wavered. Then he straightened his shoulders
and took careful aim. From ten feet away, he had heard a ringing
order, and the order had been given, not in the voice of his own
captain, but in that of Captain Frazer who, as ranking officer, had
taken command of the fight into which chance had led him. Weldon's
every nerve answered to the tonic of that voice. Not since
Vlaakfontein had he been under its command. Nevertheless, the old
spell was upon him, and he responded to its call. An instant before,
the rush towards him had seemed indomitable. Those furious, fighting
horsemen could not be stayed in their course. Now he braced himself
for the shock of their coming, while tired hand and blurring eye
roused themselves to do the bidding of his brain. He was dimly aware
that Paddy had struggled forward to his other side and, shoulder to
shoulder with him, was helping to beat back the iron-like force
pressing down upon them. Then, with the keen grasp of trifling
detail which often marks the supreme moment of mental exhaustion, he
became conscious that the hairy tail which brushed across his face
was unduly coarse and tangled, while a sudden cheer from around him
told that the Boers were turning in flight.
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