Hoof Beats 



knees, and he went forward, lifting his feet care- 

 fully, avoiding the rocks. 



The night was black and silent and hot. Heavy 

 clouds hung overhead, and now and then a large 

 drop fell with a spatter on the saddle bow. Three 

 hundred yards from camp a shot knocked up the 

 loose dust almost under his nose, and then another 

 and another. They were seen ! He felt the sharp 

 spurs in his side, heard the man's low voice in his 

 ear and knew the fight for life had begun. 



With his ears laid back from his outstretched 

 head and his bony legs opening and shutting 

 swiftly beneath him, Brutus was running as he had 

 never run before. The shots were coming faster 

 and faster, but Brutus had found his stride and the 

 speeding blur in the dark made no easy target. 

 Little spits of fire flashed from the darkness on 

 every side simultaneously with the crack of the 

 shots and the whiz of the bullets. Brutus was 

 galloping madly. He didn't care to be killed so 

 far from home with that sleek fed gray to joke 

 about it when he was gone, and then there was 

 the man on his back to think of. But the shots 

 were fewer now and sounded from the rear. Then 

 came the quiet regular beat of hoofs. They were 

 through the lines and the Boers were after them. 



Brutus would have chuckled but for the fact 

 that they had a long way to go and he needed his 

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