[Triple-discussion] but two can play at that game."

[Keliihoomalu <pr...@kp...>]

Try that dodge on about those two going off with the smuggled loot. I'll
wait. Here goes to whistle for the Boers, as the sailors do for wind."
Saying this, he drew out the little mahogany case which held his flute,
and coolly took the pieces and fitted them together, before crossing his
legs upon the rough seat and beginning to blow, keeping up a series of
the most doleful old Scotch and Irish laments, while the oxen plodded on
and the police rode by the wagon side, listening and looking in vain for
any sign tending to point out the fact that the flautist was a dishonest
dealer in the coveted crystals which were so hard to get, but all the
same keeping a keen look-out for danger in the shape of advancing Boers.
CHAPTER TWELVE. IN THE THICK OF IT. The report of the rifle was magical
in its effect upon the Basuto ponies, each rearing up on its hind legs
and striking out with its forefeet; but the same punishment was meted
out by the riders--namely, a sharp tap between the ears with the barrels
of the rifles--and the result was that beyond fidgeting they stood
fairly still, while _flash, flash, flash_, three more shots were fired.
The bullets whizzed by with their peculiar noise, sounding quite close,
but probably nowhere near the riders--those who fired judging in the
darkness quite by sound. "Let's keep on at a walk," whispered West; but,
low as his utterance was, the sound reached an enemy's ears. "Mind what
you're about!" said someone close at hand, evidently mistaking the
speaker for a friend; "one of those bullets went pretty close to my ear.
Whereabouts are they?" "Away to the right," whispered Ingleborough, in
Dutch. "Come on then," said the former speaker. "_Ck_!" The pony the man
rode made a plunge as if spurs had been suddenly dug into its sides, and
the dull beat of its hoofs on the dusty soil told of the course its
rider was taking. West was about to speak when the