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So I saddled-up Rangi, and took the despatch, and we gallop’d away Into the veld, and the face of the storm that had gather’d all day. By the white of the first of the in-and-out lightning, I pick’d up the track; Then, a long fusillade of far thunder roll’d round the dense Black.

Rain....Ah, the freshness!....the hightning to guide us, and Rangi’s good stride— Seven miles, and the drift? ’Twould be nothing, a picnic, a holiday ride: And Rangi and I had been chosen, been chosen! I laugh’d with delight (Thunder ahead!) as we gallop’d on, into the night.

Enemy? Probably....There was the chance for our courage and skill. Oho! We that had badger’d the beggars for months, and were visible still,