Chapter XVI

I have noticed, among other great peculiarities of the English that make them so different to us Afrikanders, one thing very particularly, and that not only in their talk, but in their books and newspaper writings. It is their obstinate refusal to confess like men that they know fear. How often have I heard young Rooineks, fresh come to the country, boasting of being in danger, such as in crossing a river in flood, or going close to a smallpox ambulance, and even playing cards during a thunderstorm, and saying they were not frightened. Now all this is vain boasting and unseemly, for it is natural and religious for men to have fear, as the Bible often shows; and for a man to proclaim that he knows not that godly feeling, which is given us that we may keep out of danger, is to confess himself a blasphemer. We Afrikanders are much more honest in this thing, for we are not ashamed to declare openly when we are afraid; and there is no phrase more often on our lips than, “I got a bad schrick,” which means, “I had a bad fright,” a thing no Rooinek would say, his vanity and ignorance of the Bible preventing him from being truthful in such matters. We have seen how dangerous such foolishness may be in war-time, for again and again, if the British had been more fearful, they would not have had so many of their soldiers killed.

As one who knows what danger is, through having heard my parents and old voortrekkers tell of the terrible calamities that befell them in the veld from Kafirs, lightning, and wild beasts, I am not ashamed to say that I freely own when I feel fear, not having become arrogant and boastful through my close contact with Rooineks.

Therefore do I not refrain from saying, that when I came out of my sleep—which, as I afterwards learned, was about midnight—I suffered the terror that comes to a man when he finds himself in darkness and knows not where he is or what has come to him. I do not know what awakened me, but my first knowledge was that my heart was thumping so hard that it gave me pain; and when I would put my hand to my side to ease it, I could not move. I was lying on my back, on what seemed to be a hard smooth floor, very cramped and stiff; and the fear that filled me made me break into a hot and then a cold sweat, and feel as unhappy as if all the woes I had ever known were crowding into my heart at once. Again I tried to move, but my arms were stiff at my sides, and my legs straight and moveless. I tried to open my eyes, but they were stuck close, and I could feel flies and things with many legs moving over my face.

My first thought was that my internal complaint had at last become real, and that I had been buried before I was quite dead, a thing that I have known to occur in the land. Next, as I could feel the air moving, I thought I must be paralysed, as my grandfather was for a month before he died, lying, as I was, stiff and moveless, except that his eyes were open and fixed on me in a way that would have made my conscience unhappy if I had ever done him wrong. I tried to speak, but my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth; and again a great fear and trembling came over me. I tried hard to remember some of the good things the predikant used to say when I was once really sick, and I even tried to recall the best of old Paul’s godliest sayings and Bible- readings but the fear that it might be too late for them to be of any use confused my mind, and I could think of nothing except to wonder where Paul was.

After making several strange noises in my efforts to speak, I cried out, “Paul! Paul!”

Immediately came an answer, in a voice so unfamiliar that it added to my terror for a moment or so.

“Sarel,” it said, “I am in the Valley of Ezekiel, and am all dry bones. Are you also dry bones?”

“I do not know, Paul, for I am in darkness, and cannot see or feel,’ I answered.

“Shake yourself and hear if you rattle. I have tried, but cannot even shake. I can feel the wind that passed down the valley of dry bones. I fear the Bible words have come true, that our bones are dried and our hope is lost. We are cut off. Oh, Sarel, how often I have warned you of this, but you would not heed.”

“But we can talk,” said I, my fear now fast going on finding that I was not alone.

“Yes, our tongues are loose; but why cannot we move our bodies? My arms and legs are dry bones, and my throat is parched as in the days of the great drought before Kimberley was made. I lay then two days in the veld, just like this.”

“But how came we here, and where are we, Paul?”

He made no answer, but I could hear that he was struggling as if to free himself from his stiffness. I also made an effort, having no longer any fear that I was dead or buried alive, though I could not understand my eyes being closed so tightly.

At last, in my struggling, I discovered something. I could feel with the ends of my fingers that the sleeves of my jacket were sewn to my sides with sack-thread. I told Paul what I had found, and soon he felt the Same.

“This is not the work of Bible things but of men-devils,” said he; “it is that schelm Andries. Ach, Sarel, why did we not do what we came for, and take him prisoner instead of drinking his whisky and being friendly? You would drink, Sarel.”

This made me angry, for Paul had drunk six soupies to my one, and this I reminded him of.

“But, Sarel, what has come to our eyes? Are you, too, blind?”

I told him I was..

“Then it is a judgment upon us for not using our eyes to discover the wickedness of schelm Andries. Ach, Sarel, if we do not use our good gifts they will be taken from us, as they are. Have you flies and creeping things on your face?”

Then a thought came to me which I put into words.

“You are right, Paul; this is the work of Andries. It is birdlime we have on our eyes; I can smell it, and at first I thought it was a death smell, but I remember seeing the birdlime in the kitchen.”

Paul sniffed hard. ‘You are right, Sarel; and it is the work of that devil Andries.” And then he fell to abusing him most violently, as only Paul could when truly angry.

It was all clear to me now. Andries had waited till we were asleep—having no doubt put sleeping stuff into the whisky—and then had stuck our eyes, and sewn our legs and arms together, just as Scotty Smith did the sheriff who went to capture him and fell asleep under Scotty’s whisky; only he was put into a cattle kraal. We were still in the house, but I knew not in which room. Presently I heard a match strike, and smelt tobacco.

“You are smoking, Paul,” I said.

“Smoking, Sarel? It is not so bad as that, is it?”

Before I could explain that I meant tobacco-smoke, I heard a quiet laugh that I knew to belong to Andries.

“Nay, kerels, you are not smoking yet, but you ought to be,” said he. “You are both verdomde schelms, and I have you condemned out of your own mouths. I think I shall set fire to the house and leave you to burn.”

I would have said something to smooth Andries; but before I could frame it, Paul, as usual, was the first to speak, as he ever was when he had an improper thing to say.

“Now I know you are a schelm,” he shouted. “You would burn us, would you; take this stickiness off my eyes and let me see what the devil looks like.”

“You have seen enough, Paul; it will do your eyes good to have a rest.”

“Ja, I have seen enough. I have seen your schelm Kafir Mabaan. I knew him of old. What does an oprecht Burgher want with a Kafir who has a spell for making cattle follow him?”

This Mapaan was one of those Kafirs who can make any beast follow him, which was why Scotty Smith set such store on him; for Mapaan was famous through the land for his cunning with cattle and horses, having stolen thousands, and been in jail many times.

“I always have the best oxen in my span that I can get,” said Andries, “and when I find I have got a bad one I get rid of him.”

He said this in a meaning sort of way, and I knew that if I had had the use of my eyes I should have seen that he was looking hard at me.

“You have not had me in your span, you schelm,” answered Paul, with foolish boldness, for if he did not fear Andries for himself he had no right to endanger me.

“Yes, I have,” said Andries. “An ox does not always know his owner. I have had my work out of you; but now I know from your own mouth that you are a bad ox and a foolish one, who does not know when he is well off, so I am going to turn you out of my herd.”

I was fearing to hear Andries say something of the same sort about me, when there came the sound of horses’ feet. I heard Andries move quickly away, and felt by the cool air that a door had been opened and shut, and I thought we might be alone; but I resolved that whatever foolish things Paul might say in his wrath, I would be discreet in my answers, for Andries might be listening, as he was before.

“Has that schelm gone away, Sarel?” asked Paul.

I told him I did not know, thinking that might make him careful in what he said; but it did not, for the old stupid began again—

“I expect he is listening, Sarel; and I hope he is, for I want to tell him other things.”

Just then we could hear Andries’ voice calling a Kafir, out by the kraal.

“What does he mean by getting rid of us?” I asked, for I did not like that remark.

“Doing as the old Boers in the Colony used when they wanted to get rid of a Kafir,—give him a good taste of the sjambok, and five minutes’ start before they fired a handful of loupers after him,” answered the old man, quite cheerfully.

I was thinking and fearing much the same thing, but I dared not put it into words, so I answered safely, lest Andries might be listening—

“You could not be surprised if he did that after the hard things you have said of him. You would not say such things if you had had your life saved by him as I have.”

“No, Sarel; neither have I been robbed by his daughter and made to look foolish.”

“I deserved to be made to seem foolish, for Charlotte is a slim girl, above all Afrikander missies, and no man need feel shame for being made to look foolish by a clever woman.”

Paul’s answer was, of course, full of bitterness against women; so, lest he should say something more unwise to anger Andries, I cleverly put him off by saying I had found how to untie my sewing, which was not true, but it answered my purpose, and made Paul cease abusing, and writhe and struggle instead to loosen his stitches.

I had contrived, with great difficulty, to get into a sitting posture, and had moved to that part of the wall where I guessed the door to be, and I was leaning against it, when suddenly it was opened, and I felt myself pulled backwards into another room, for I could dimly see that it was lighted. I heard Andries speak to some one, as he helped me to my feet and led me to a chair.

“Take this,” said he, putting a cup of whisky to my lips. I was fearful about drinking, but deemed it wiser not to refuse, so I drank, and soon began to feel better.

“Now, Sarel,” said Andries, ‘let us have a plain talk. You are a fool in many ways, particularly in letting Charlotte and the khaki run off with that money. But I am going to give you one chance more. You must go back to the commando, get more Burghers, and catch another transport convoy.”

“Andries,” said I, “it is you who are foolish. I cannot do that, for I am finished with my people, and have no commando now, and go back to head laager I will not. Let me stay here and help you, or go to the English.”

“You are of use to me only as a commandant, Sarel, so you must go to the English; but it is as a prisoner you will go, and that means St Helena or Maritzburg jail.”

This was not what I expected; and I began to see that firmness is not always wise, however much it may be praised by those who have never tried to be firm when it meant St Helena.

“But, Andries,” said I, “you are so slim, and have such a hold over the Burghers by that clever loot-money trick, that you can yourself go back and get as many Burghers as you want.”

“Nay, Sarel; if you knew more of the world you, would know that a clever conjurer never repeats the same trick before the same audience. ‘That answered well at the time, but they now know how it’s done.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s my business to know. By the same means I also know that if you have the pluck you can bring off one more trick, and, by God! Sarel, you must do it. I may tell you that things have not been going well with me lately. The last lot of cattle I sold were retaken by the British, who are beginning to ask questions about me, and the speculators who buy from me are getting shy. If what you say about Charlotte is true, I am finished, and I can see no way of coming out without your help.”

“Neither can I without yours,” said I “so suppose you open my eyes.”

“Ja; I think it will help him to see wisdom, said a voice that sounded familiar.

Andries went away, and returned with warm water and a towel and washed my eyes, while other hands cut the stitches that confined my legs and arms.

When at last I opened my eyes, they lighted on a strange thing. There stood the khaki captain who had taken me prisoner and made me take the oath of allegiance; but he was no longer in uniform, but dressed like a Colonial farmer. Immediately at sight of him my memory came back to me. I saw the horse-market on Marshall Square, Johannesburg, and this man, standing with a whip, showing off the horses that an auctioneer was selling.

“How do you do, commandant?” said he, laughing.

“How do you do, Kelly? How is your baas, Mr Burton?”

“So you know him, Sarel?” said Andries.

“Ja; he is Fred Kelly, once clerk to Burton, the Rand auctioneer, and no khaki captain.”

“Irregular corps commandant,” answered Kelly, still laughing.

“Ja, very irregular,” put in Andries, who went on. “You have not time to kiss and be brothers just now, Sarel, for you must first decide about going back to the commando. The captain here has brought bad news, and unless you can get sufficient Burghers to hold up a convoy he knows of, we are all finished. If you do this, we shall make money enough to get out of the country to Delagoa Bay; then we can go to Holland or Germany and wait till the war is over. Now, hurry up; Yea or Nay? Holland or St Helena?”

My heart was thumping so hard that I could not frame words, which would have been to gain time; but just then the voice of Paul sounded through the door. It seems that he had rolled along the floor, and had got his head by the crack at the bottom, and had heard everything.

“Say ‘No,’ Sarel; say ‘No!’” he shouted. “Tell the verdomde schelm to be damned. Be a man, Sarel; he wants our Burghers that they may be shot down. Andries, you are a schelm, and your daughter, and your wife—all of you.”

Andries looked at Kelly and smiled; then opened the door, and looked at Paul lying on his side, with his ear against the floor.

“Paul,” said Andries quite calmly, “you are a very rude old man, and if you use language like that I shall report you to the Dopper elders.”

Paul replied by a volley of abuse, which only made Andries and Kelly laugh. They let him go on for some time, when Andries turned towards me.

“Now, Sarel, have you made up your mind? Never mind this old idiot; he can’t help you one way or the other. You have to pull your own load this time.”

“Andries,” said I in great perplexity, “you know I have no commando, and if I go back what chance have I of getting another? Already General Joubert will have heard how I have fallen to pieces. It is too difficult a thing you ask me to do.”

If it were easy I should not want your help. Any one can do easy things: it needs men to do hard ones. Say you are afraid, then I shall know what to do.”

“And what is that?”

“I shall take you to the nearest British position, saying I have captured you, and that you are the commandant who stuck up the convoy. That will give me a chance to get through, and help to patch up my character in their eyes.”

“But you surely wouldn’t treat me like that, Andries, after all I have done for you without pay?” I objected.

“You are a nice one to talk about what you have done for me. If I had been the fool you take me for, I suppose I should have been on the way to the head laager by this time.”

I could not think of a proper answer at the moment, and Paul came in to prevent my explaining and making things easy.

“Ja, Andries,” said the foolish old man; “but for Sarel going to sleep over that whisky of yours you would have been tied up by this time. We have found you out, you schelm.”

I hastened to explain to Andries that the plan was not mine, to which he replied that he was quite satisfied that I was not capable of it.

“We should have tied you up, but we should not have blinded you,” Paul went on.

“I think you have all the pluck,” said Andries, quite friendly. ‘I think they made a mistake in not making you commandant. I am going to open your eyes, and perhaps you can see the sense in what Sarel cannot.”

Paul made no reply, and Andries got water, and, having pulled the old man into the room, washed his eyes free from the stickiness; but he did not cut the strings that tied his arms and legs.

As in my case, the first thing that Paul saw was the so-called khaki captain, and immediately a great look of anger and surprise came over his face.

“Oh, you pair of verdomde schelms!” he shouted. “I know you. You are not Kelly; you are Johann Smit the gun-runner, the scoundrel who took rifles and a machine-gun to Magato, and taught the Kafirs to fight white men. Sarel, we are in nice company. If this is Smit—and I can never forget him, for he outspanned at my farm three times when he was gunrunning—this other schelm is Sailor Robinson, the Johannesburg thief. I have never seen this Robinson before, but the description fits. See if Andries has lost a middle finger on the left hand.”

I remembered that such was the case, though it was only the first joint that had gone, and as Andries always kept his fingers closed, it was not easy to see.

While Paul was saying all this, Andries and the man I knew as Kelly looked at each other and smiled.

“Ja, Oom Paul,” said Kelly, ‘I remember you well. Your vrouw made the worst coffee in the district, but she never asked too many questions. Do you remember when I hired your little buck-waggon? It carried through a hundred guns, Paul, and there was your name on the board, so that Magato could know who the kind Boer was that helped him get guns through.”

“I’m afraid, Paul, that after this you will not be inclined to go into partnership with us in the scheme we have in hand,” said Andries, speaking now for the first time in English, and with a sarcasm that was most annoying.

I cannot put on paper what Paul replied. He used up all the offensive words in the Taal, and the worst that he knew in English, and threw them all at the two men. He was sitting on the floor, with his back to a low Dutch chest of drawers, and as he threw out the words, not being able to use his arms, he swung his head frequently against the top drawer in his angry excitement.

“Paul,” said Andries in his irritating, cool, and polite manner, ‘I wish you would not spoil my furniture with your wooden head; I must stop it,” and he went up, opened the top drawer a little, then pushed Paul’s long hair inside, and, closing the drawer, locked it, making the old man a prisoner.

“Now, Paul, if you had not kept up the dirty Dopper custom of not cutting your hair, this would not have happened,” said Andries, and he and Kelly had a good laugh, though I thought it very cruel, especially as it did not stop Paul’s tongue, and said so.

“We can put his tongue in instead of his hair,” said Kelly, and for a time I feared they would do it; but they seemed so amused at the angry abuse which the old man continued to use, that, fortunately, they did not act upon the suggestion.

These humorous ways of Andries in treating his prisoners were so like those told of the great Scotty Smith, that I began to wonder whether, after all, this might not be he, for he had ‘not been heard of for some years. If so, then there was no saying what horrible things he might not do, from baking us in an oven to tying us naked over an ant-hill or burying us up to our necks in the cattle kraal,—all of which atrocities had been perpetrated by the great highwayman and cattle-thief, though there was the very comforting memory that he always sent his Kafirs to let the victims free when they were nearly frightened to death.

There was one story about him that had always seemed very terrible to me; and from the moment I began to suspect him I could not get it out of my mind, the more so as he had talked of setting fire to the house. Many years ago, Scotty had caught a man who had put the field-cornets on to his track. This man had very big ears, for which he was well known throughout the land. Scotty took him to his stable and nailed one ear to the manger; then, giving him a sharp knife, left him, and set fire to the place, telling the Boer that he could get free by leaving one ugly ear behind. This the poor man did, and I have since seen him with only part of his ear left.

The contemplation of these horrors, which came crowding on my memory, so choked my brain and heart that I had no ears for what was going on between the others in the room. When, after a whispered conversation between Andries and Kelly, the former came up to me and took me by the arm, I was dazed with a nameless fear, and thought that at last my end had come. But he only led me towards the door and then out to the back of the house, where the horses were being saddled up by a Kafir. Andries bade me mount, and I did so. In fact, I dared not refuse, so great was the terror this wicked man inspired in me. I had ever felt towards him that meekness one always feels in the presence of strong and masterful people; and there was now added to it the fear that he might be Scotty Smith, and would do to me any of the horrors he had done to those who had stood up against him.

We had ridden some distance from the farmhouse before I missed Kelly, and was brought to remembrance by his cantering up.

“I have taken his knife, so that the old chap will have to pull his hair out by the roots,” said he; and the two laughed, while the story of the ear-nailed Burgher in the burning stable again came to my mind and filled me with unhappiness and apprehension. I glanced several times back at the house, expecting to see flames and smoke, but was rejoiced that none appeared.

I now began to collect my senses and think more clearly, for during the past hour I had been confused and dazed. I noticed that neither Andries nor Kelly seemed to be prepared for a long ride, having only their saddle-bags, rifles, and bandoliers, but no haversacks for carrying food. Then, again, it was, as near as I could judge, about two o’clock in the morning, and bright moonlight. I inferred from our starting so early that Andries was anxious to get away from the farm, expecting unwelcome visitors. I asked him once where we were going, but he replied flippantly that he had been invited to breakfast with General Buller; and when, after a little waiting, I again asked what he was going to do with me, he answered shortly, and with much unfriendliness, “You’ll see in good time.” So I held my tongue and rode in silence, hoping to learn something from the talk of the two, but they said nothing to enlighten me.

After an hour’s ride, when dawn was well advanced, Andries pulled up by some stones in the centre of a smooth, flat, grassy hill, that gave a good view of all the country round. He took his field-glasses from a case and sat in the saddle, looking long in a southerly direction, while Kelly dismounted and drank whisky from a flask, inviting me to drink also, which I did.

“We will give him an hour,” at last remarked Andries to Kelly; and he too dismounted, and lay on the grass.

Then the two talked together in a way that satisfied me they were expecting to meet a Kafir messenger, for they pointed to one very large square boulder, about the height of two men and wide enough to shelter a man on horseback.

“You are sure he knows that is the stone we mean?” asked Kelly.

“A Kafir never forgets a place he has seen once,” answered Andries, and we sat and watched the sun rise,—a thing that English people are so much given to talking and writing about that I often wonder whether they have a proper sun in their land.

We had been sitting thus idly for the greater part of an hour, when I noticed that Andries’ horse was straying away some distance. Andries got up and walked towards him to bring him back, when there came the small sharp crack of a mauser rifle, and a cry from Andries.

Kelly and I looked in the direction the sounds came from, and saw Andries running, with his head and arms forward and stooping low. He ran to the big stone I have mentioned, and threw himself flat beside it, just as another crack came, and a bullet struck the ground only a yard to one side of him. Kelly and I immediately crawled behind the stones against which we were sitting, and asked one another what it meant.

“It’s that schelm Paul got away,” said Kelly. “What a fool I was to forget the rifles.”

“Who could let him loose?’ I asked.

“The Kafir, I expect; yet I saw him ride away before I left.”

“Throw me your whisky-flask,” shouted Andries. “I am hit, and feel bad.”

Kelly took off his flask and carefully stood up, stooping low behind the stones, which were only about a yard in height.

“It’s too far,” he said to me; and he spoke truly, or the distance between the big boulder where Andries lay and us was quite thirty yards. While he hesitated, Andries called out impatiently, “Come with it; stoop low and run hard,” but Kelly did not move, and I could see great fear upon his face.

“You go, Sarel,” said he; “you are smaller, and will make a lesser mark.” But fear had got hold of me.

“For God’s sake hurry, man!’ shouted Andries.

Kelly swung the flask by the strap, and it fell about midway the distance.

Again Andries shouted to us to run, but neither of us dared obey, for we both knew that if the man behind the mauser were Paul, he could not help hitting any one who ventured out, for the shot came from a heap of stones less than a hundred yards away. As if to remove any doubt that we might have, there came a third crack, and we saw the flask spin several feet from where it lay. It had been hit and pierced by a mauser bullet, which also struck a stone beyond the flask, splintering it to dust.

There was no doubt left in my mind that the shooter was old Paul; but I said nothing, for I feared they, believing this, would tell me that he would not shoot at me if I tried to reach the flask, on which I was not so certain, as I had no doubt the old man was angry with me for leaving him, though I could do nothing else but obey Andries.

Kelly loaded his rifle and laid the muzzle over the stones in the direction of the shots. At the same instant a bullet struck our stone, and the crack of the mauser arrived at the same moment.

“Whoever he is, he has got us fixed,” said Kelly. “This is going to be a waiting game. Our only chance is to exhaust his ammunition.”

He put his hat on the end of his rifle and moved it above the stones, but no shot came.

“He’s too old a bird to be caught that way,” said he; “we must wait. How goes it, Andries?”

I think my hip-bone is smashed,” answered he, as coolly as if it were the merest trifle. ‘I think it must be old Paul du Plooy. Serves us right for not finishing him. Is that you, Paul? What do you want to leave us alone?”

We waited, but no answer came. Then I shouted several times, but only silence followed.

“We are in a very tight place,” said Kelly, after a long pause. “We have no idea where the old schelm is; while he can see us, and the ground is so smooth that a rock-rabbit could not leave these stones without being seen. We must wait patiently till dark.”

“That will be a long time; for though the moon does not rise till near eight, it will not be dark enough to cover our movements in the meantime, for we must be on the sky-line to a man lying on the edge of this flat. And what about eating and drinking?” I asked.

“All our drink was in that flask, and unless you have something in your pockets we are foodless.”

“Then we are in a tight place,” I replied, “for I have nothing. But are you not expecting some one to come to this spot?”

“Yes; one of Andries’ messengers was to be here by sunrise, but he can now no more get to us than we can get to him. Can’t you talk this old rascal over? We can’t stay here for ever. Something must happen.”

I shouted out, “Paul, don’t shoot! I am coming to talk to you,” though secretly I resolved not to expose my body to any such risk.

Still no answer came. I cautiously raised my hat over the stones, but no shot came.

“He is too slim,” said I. ‘He knows no Boer would be foolish enough to show his head like that.” Twice again I shouted, but I might have called to the lonely veld.

The suspense and anxiety became great as the time passed slowly on. There was also another thing happening. It was yet full summer, and terribly hot. The sun had risen on the side on which we lay, and, having no shelter, we began to feel its discomfort. But it was not so much the heat then, as the recollection of what it would be a few hours’ later, when we should begin to be faint for want of food and water. The thought alone was awful.

“If he means to kill us, why does he not get round to this side?” remarked Kelly. “We cannot see him, as he can keep below the ridge and pick us off as he likes.”

The same thought had occurred to me, and my explanation was that Paul’s object was to make us suffer the pains of uncertainty and hope, and, just as we had begun to think he must be gone, he would shoot us. At the same time, I had a secret belief that the old man would not include me in the slaughter, but would be content with giving me a schrick in punishment for my not standing up more for him.

“Paul, I’ll put my hands up and let you take a thousand pounds if you will let me go away; my leg is broken,” was Andries’ next cry. “Go out to him, Sarel; he won’t hurt you.”

“Will you hurt me, Paul?” I shouted; but only silence followed, and we drew ourselves up into small space and tried to sleep.

The morning passed and the sun got high, scorching us badly. It was just past noon when we heard a noise as of some one walking over stones. We dared not look out, for it might be only a trick to make us expose ourselves.

A minute later a Kafir appeared; he was the messenger Andries had expected long ago. He looked about him surprised, and then, spying Kelly and me, came towards the stone. As he stopped before us the rifle cracked again, and a bullet cut the ground near his feet. He threw himself flat beside us.

“Has he water?” shouted Andries, his husky voice showing that he was beginning to suffer from thirst. The Kafir turned his bottle up to show that it was empty. Andries let out a cry of pain and anger, the first he had made.

“Did you see any one when you came up?” Kelly asked of the Kafir, who replied that he had only seen our horses loose, but that an hour after dawn he had seen khaki scouts, who were scattered so wide over the country that he had to lie close, and this it was that had made him late. I gathered that he had been sent by Andries to watch for any Britishers who might be coming in the direction of the farm; but though I much wanted to know why Andries had so suddenly left his place, I was afraid to ask in the presence of Kelly, and he showed no wish to talk much, as men in danger do not waste words except to swear, and Kelly did not even do that.

Meantime we could hear, by Andries’ small cries and groans, that he was suffering much from his wound. Once or twice we called to him to know how he fared; but his reply was not clear, and plainly caused so much pain that we refrained from troubling him.

The sun passed slowly towards the Drakensberg, but no sign or sound came from Paul. We tried to get the Kafir to go out and see if the old man was still on the watch, but he refused; and no threats would make him even put his head from behind the stone.

If I go, I shall be shot; if I don’t go you say you will shoot me; what matters if I don’t move?” said he, and he lay on his back and smoked calmly.

We were hoping that when it got fairly dark we might make a run for it, but there were two objections to that: first, Andries could not move; secondly, our horses had disappeared, having, no doubt, gone to a hollow in the direction of Paul, where they would find water. I could not help wondering whether Andries had been carrying his money in his saddle-bags, for if so, Paul would get it.

Then I began to think how marvellously things had worked out for the old man, who not only probably had the money of his enemy, but had got him completely at his mercy. I could see him, in fancy, sitting behind a big boulder, with his rifle ready, aimed in our direction, pointing through a little scanze he was certain to have built, while he searched the Scriptures to find verses to fit the occasion, and tell him what Joshua would have done; not that he needed to find out, for he already knew all the bloodthirsty and vengeful verses from beginning to end.

It wanted about an hour to sunset, when we were startled by a shout of “Sarel!”

I knew it was Paul, and answered; but I would not show my head over the stone.

“Give the two rifles and bandoliers to the Kafir, and tell him to bring them to me,” came the same voice from behind the stones.

“Ja; do it,” shouted Andries, but very feebly. “Take my revolver too, and Kelly’s.”

Very reluctantly, the Kafir got up and collected the guns, but neither of us dared look out to see what he did with them, but we heard him throw them heavily to the ground.

“Come out, Kelly,” was the next order.

Kelly hesitated.

“I am not shooting you,” said Paul, with a stress on the “you” that made me feel very uncomfortable, for there was great and deep earnestness in Paul’s voice, that showed me he had been reading much about Joshua.

Kelly went towards Paul, and I gathered courage to spy cautiously, with my head well on the ground.

“Lie down on your stomach,” said Paul.

Kelly obeyed; and the old man, carrying his mauser ready, felt him all over to make sure that he had no hidden weapon.

“Now you come out, Sarel.” I got up with difficulty, for my limbs were stiff with lying so many hours in one position. ‘Go to Andries, and see that he has no more revolvers,’ said the old man, pointing his rifle at the big stone to cover any movement.

“You need not worry, Paul,” said Andries faintly; “I know when I have lost a game. I’m finished.”

As Paul came towards the stone, Kelly made a movement, and in a moment Paul had sent a bullet within a foot of his legs. “If you stir till I tell you I’ll shoot both your legs through,” said he, carefully reloading his rifle.

“Well, Paul, your end is up now,” said Andries, who lay on his back, looking very sick and full of pain.

Then this strange man burst out laughing, looking up at Paul. I looked too, and nearly laughed, for all the hair was singed off the old man’s head.

“Ja; I am no Dopper now, Andries. You did not leave me a knife to cut it, but you left my matches, so I fired myself free. Man, but it was a dirty trick to play on an old man. Where did I get you?”

“On my hip-bone, Paul. It’s all smashed.”

“Then I shall not have to kill you, for you will, for the rest of the time, be a light to the Gentiles. You will carry the brand of Cain always. Old Coos Swannepool had his shin broken when a young kerel, and he walks with sticks to this day. How much money have you, Andries? I heard you say you would give me a thousand pounds to let you run. You can no longer run, so I’ll take two thousand to let you ride.”

At that moment Paul turned round suddenly, raised his rifle, and fired. Kelly rolled over with a howl. He had quietly crawled to where the two rifles were lying, and had just got hold of one, only to find that Paul had removed the magazine.

“He deserves it as much as you, Andries; and now you two schelms can limp through life together. I don’t know that it wouldn’t have been more merciful to send the bullets through your heads instead of your legs, but you will be better exemplars to the wicked as you stump along,” was all the old man said.

Paul’s bullet had taken Kelly along the calf of his leg and above the knee.

“Why did you not do this before, Paul?” Andries asked sadly.

“I wanted to give you time to think over your wickedness; and for myself, I did not want the sun to go down upon my wrath. I was for shooting you at first, but I thought that as you had robbed me of my eyesight I would take away your hearing. Was it not bad, Andries? I once lay all day in an ant-bear hole, with Kafirs waiting for me, to die of hunger and thirst. I could not see them any more than you could see me, but the thought that they might be near enough to assegai me was awful, Andries. I had no Bible with me in those days, and could think of nothing but the pangs of death. Did you have many pangs, Andries?”

‘Ja; all up and down the leg.

“You would have had worse pangs, Andries, if you could have known what I was thinking all the time that I was not shooting. I was searching the Bible to find what Joshua would have done with you. I read nearly all Kings, Joshua, and Judges, but I could find no case that quite fitted yours. I don’t think there could have been schelms so bad as you in Bible days. So, after reading all things that were done to the heathen and Philistines and Amalekites, I couldn’t think of the proper thing that would fit you in a Bible way. The nearest I can get it is that you and that schelm Kelly are the Philistines that got Samson. I am Samson, for you bound me in a strange way as the Philistines bound him; my hair is off, and though I burned it myself, it is the same as if Delilah cut it; and you put out my eyes, and made me make sport for you. I could not pull your house down as he did, but I did what Samson would have done if he had not got hold of the pillars,—I have burned it.”

I saw Andries smile, and I knew the reason. Paul went on—

“I have not been able to make up my mind whether your girl Charlotte is Delilah. It looks very black against her in many ways; but even if she were, I don’t see that Delilah was punished in any way. If Charlotte marries that Rooinek captain she will be well punished, for the Bible is quite as much against women taking husbands among strange men as it is against the men who take strange women. The thing is what to do with you. If it had not been summer, and the grass green, I should have set fire to it as you lay with your hurt leg; and it would have happened to you as it happened to the Philistines’ mealies when Samson sent the fiery foxes into the fields. But that would have destroyed your paper- money too. How much have you, Andries?”

“I have five thousand pounds, Paul; and I shall give it you with pleasure, as you have not destroyed me as you might have.”

My heart gave a great thump.

“Don’t forget that nine hundred pounds of it is mine, Andries,” said I.

I have not forgotten it; and if Paul is the honest man I think he is, he will give you the nine hundred, and half what remains.”

“Certainly I will,” answered Paul. ‘Let us have the money now.”

Andries, with great effort and many groans, took from his inside pocket a wallet, and, taking out a piece of paper, handed it to Paul.

“That,” said he, ‘as you can see, is a deposit note from the Natal Bank for five thousand pounds. All my money is there, and if you go to Maritzburg and show the manager this, he will give you the money.”

I was very disappointed; for though I, being educated, understood all about cheques, there still lingered some of that dislike of paper-money impressed upon me by my late father-in-law.

“This is not money,” said Paul, who I could see was, like myself, very disappointed, expecting to see gold, or at least bank-notes.

“Neither is a Government order money till you take it to the bank, is it?” replied Andries. “Sarel understands it; don’t you?”

“Ja,” answered I; ‘but why not give us a proper cheque?”

I thought you said you understood,” replied Andries. “Every man who is not a fool knows that cheques are only given for small sums. When a man wants to give all the money he has got in a bank, he doesn’t give a cheque; he gives up his deposit note, which is the same as a transfer of title that you get when you buy a farm. Is not that so, Sarel?”

“Ja,” said I very foolishly, not wishing to appear ignorant before Paul.

I took the paper and read it.

“But this is in the name of John Wilson, not Brink,” said I.

“Sarel, you are very simple. Do you think that in war-time I would put money in an English bank in a Boer name? They only know me in Maritzburg as Wilson.”

I knew that this sort of thing was often done on the Rand, where men have banking accounts in different names; so, although I did not like it, I told Paul it was all right.

“But have you no gold or bank-notes?” Paul asked.

“Only enough to carry me out of the country. You wouldn’t have me stay here and go on helping the British, when you could make certain of me getting out of the way, would you?”

I stood up for the justness of this; and though Paul was for taking the money when he saw that what Andries had in gold and notes came to nearly five hundred pounds, he at last gave way to me, and let Andries keep it.

“And now,” said Andries, “you have quite finished me, Paul, so I must get away if I do not die in the veld. I know a farm two hours from here where I can lie till I can ride, and then I shall get to Delagoa Bay and go to Germany. This money will be just enough.”

Paul stood thinking deeply.

“I don’t know that I shall be doing righteously in letting you go, Andries; but if we took you, as we should, to Piet Joubert, you are so slim that you might turn even him to do your will, and Sarel here has not done so much for me that I should share with him the glory of capturing you.”

“I want no glory, for I am never going back to the head laager,” said I; for now, having the money, I felt courageous and independent.

“Just so, Sarel,” said Paul reproachfully. ‘A young ox that breaks often out of the kraal will do it again, and is best got rid of. You are no Burgher at heart, Sarel; you have been spoiled by a Rooinek woman. It is always so,—it is Scripture. You know how I told you once you were as Moses, and I Joshua—well, it is all working true, Sarel; you are on the top of the mountain, and will never come down to your people, so I will go and finish the work you have begun so badly. The only pity is that you are not dead, Sarel.”

“But you can tell the General I was shot, and he will make you commandant.”

Paul stood leaning on his mauser, and thinking hard for some time.

“Yes, Sarel; that is best for you, and best for me. It will put a bar between you and Katrina.”

I had thought of that, and secretly rejoiced that the old man agreed with me.

“Tell the General that I shot many khaki officers before I was killed, and you must be careful to say that it was lyddite, and that I was behind a very big stone. He particularly told me not to get into danger, and I would not have him think I was so foolish as not to get under cover.”

“Nay, Sarel; I will tell Piet you are dead by lyddite, but I will not lie about officers, for does not he read all the Rooinek newspapers that give the names of all the killed? If he should ask where you killed khaki officers, he would find that I lied. No, Sarel; I will not do anything that Joshua would not have done. I will help you by saying you are dead; but what about the money, Sarel? How will you get that if you be made prisoner?”

“It will be all right, Paul,” said Andries. “The British do not take away a prisoner’s money, but keep it safe for him. But I don’t think he will be taken prisoner, for it is easy for a man who knows Natal like Sarel to get safely through to Maritzburg.”

“Then as soon as you get in, go to the bank and get the money, Sarel, which you must hide in a safe place till you can send me my share. And don’t forget, Sarel, that a thousand pounds must go to Katrina. You may rob the Government, Sarel, but you must not rob a Boer woman. Let me look at the money-order to see that it is all right.”

I handed him the deposit note, smiling as I did so, for I knew the foolish old man did not understand such things, but in his vanity he pretended that he did. He looked it all over very carefully.

“It’s a small piece of paper to carry so much gold,” said he, “but it’s a Rooinek custom. It’s quite right, Sarel; the figures are quite plain. Now, remember what I have said. You send me my half, and a thousand besides for Katrina, and I’ll give it to her. Have you any message to send her?”

“Nay, Paul; tell her I was dead before I could speak about her.”

“Right, Sarel; I will do it faithfully, soon as I can get away off commando. But, Sarel, if they should find you are not dead, what shall I say?”

“Say it was Katrina’s medicine that saved me. That will make her quite happy, for it will make her greater than Mrs Van den Berg.”

Paul sent the Kafir to catch our horses, which had wandered over the veld. While they were coming he went up to Kelly, who, it seems, was not so much hurt by Paul’s shot.

“I ought by right to finish you,” said he; ‘but it is better to make you a limping example to wrongdoers. Have you any money on you?”

“Only a few sovereigns,” answered Kelly, taking out his purse, as a man fearful of more danger.

Paul took it.

“You must now fight Andries for half that he has if you want more. I am glad that I can say I have shot a gun-runner. I hope you will die soon,” and the bloodthirsty old man got on his horse.

“Good-bye, Sarel,” said he, shaking hands. “The old ox is the best in the span after all. My interpretation of your dream was the only proper one, Sarel, for Moses is now dead and Joshua takes his place. It is right it should be so, for you have worshipped the golden calf, Sarel. Get away from these schelms as soon as you can, and while you are with them, keep them in front of your mauser, or they will have that money-order again. Good-bye, Sarel; good-bye Andries, you schelm!”

“Wait a bit, Paul,” said Andries; “I should much like to know one thing. How did you get your hands free from the sewing?”

“It was all through the Bible, Andries; the wisdom of the righteous availeth more than the cunning of the wicked,” and the old man cantered off.

“What does the old devil mean?” asked Andries of Kelly.

“I have been puzzling over that all the time I have been lying on my face,” answered Kelly; “but I think I see it now. Just as I was leaving, he called me back and asked me to put his Bible into his inside pocket. I unbuttoned his coat and obliged him, but I don’t remember fastening it again.”

Andries burst into a long, loud laugh. “Kelly,” said he, “it’s time we retired from business when we are done down by a Dopper.”