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"On the Firing Line"

He had left Johannesburg, to face a future apart from
Ethel. He was coming back to Lindley, to face a future bereft of the
Captain.
It was full noon, the next day, when the camp came into view.
Leaving the convoy to follow in his wake, he headed straight for the
rise where he had so often sat with Carew and gossiped of all things
under the light of the sun. Then, as the round tents lay under his
eyes like rows of dots punched into relief above the surface of the
plain, he sank down on the coarse, parched grass and hid his eyes in
his shaking hands. Yet even then the pitiless circle of tragic
thoughts refused to stop their ceaseless round.
He roused himself at a touch on his arm. Kruger Bobs, at a distance,
was eying him with a look of chastened welcome; but Carew stood
beside him, one thin, sun-tanned hand on Weldon's shoulder.
"It's all right, old man," he was saying. "Don't try to tell me
anything about it. Kruger Bobs saw you coming, and we rode out to
meet you. Come in and rest. You look utterly done up."
Half way back to the camp, Carew spoke again; but it was only once.
"I told the fellows you were coming, and that you would be tired.


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