It was growing dark before a suitable place presented itself, this being
a typical Boer farm in a very desolate part of the veldt, the spot
having been evidently chosen by its occupants on account of the tiny
kopje and abundant supply of water welling out, besides being a perfect
spot for the branch of farming the owner carried on, there being pen
after pen of ostriches, the great foolish-looking large-eyed birds
staring at the two horsemen wonderingly as they approached the door
where the owner stood looking distant and glum, as he smoked his big
pipe.
Yes, he said, he would sell them some provisions for themselves and corn
for their horses if they had money to pay for what they wanted.
This was at once produced, and the farmer looked on after summoning a
huge Kaffir to help with the horses and get out the corn; while his fat
wife, after coming to the door to glare at the visitors, condescended to
put on a kettle to prepare them tea, and see if there was a chicken that
could be killed and broiled, and some eggs for frying.
There were several bits of consultation carried on by the husband and
wife from time to time, and everything showed that the visitors were far
from welcome.
"Never mind," said Ingleborough; "all we want is a good meal, and we
shall be off in the morning as soon as it is light."
"That shed with the iron roof is to be our bedroom, I suppose?" said
West.
"Yes, and we're lucky to get that and a few sacks."
Just then the Boer came slowly sidling up, smoking hard the while, to
know if they had seen anything of the war, and he seemed deeply
interested on hearing that a skirmish had been going on not so many
miles from his farm.
"Why are you two not fighting?" he said suddenly.
"Because we don't want to," was West's smiling reply.
"But you are Englanders?" said the Boer.
"Yes, but all Englanders don't want to fight," said West, while
Ingleborough looked on, quite unmoved.
"Oh, don't tell, me!" said the Boer, shaking his head. "They all want
to fight and kill the Boers before robbing them of their homes and
farms. Don't tell me--I know!"
He walked away to where the Kaffir was seeing to the horses, and West
noticed that he took a good deal of notice of them, glanced two or three
times in the direction of his visitors, and then ran his hands down
their legs in a most professional way, narrowly escaping a kick from
West's steed, before he walked thoughtfully back to his rough--looking
house, into which he was careful not to allow his guests to enter.
"We're to share the stable with the nags," said Ingleborough; "but it
doesn't matter. Let's go and see how they are getting on," he
continued, as the Boer disappeared indoors. "We can't afford to have
them fed on some of his lordship's refuse. I know something of the
tricks of these gentlemen of old."
They entered the rough stable, where the big Kaffir was standing on one
side and greeted them with a heavy scowl.
"Well, Jack," said Ingleborough, "are the ponies eating their corn?"
"Yes, baas," said the black gruffly; "eat um all fast."
"Ah, I thought so," said Ingleborough quietly, sniffing and blowing on
the musty trash. "Do you feed your horses on stuff like this?"
He turned so sharply on the Kaffir that the man shrank as if from a
blow; but his questioner smiled.
"Not your fault, I suppose?"
"Baas say, `Give ponies thaht,'" he replied apologetically.
"Of course, my lad," said Ingleborough, drawing out a shilling and
slipping it into the black's hand.
"Now you get some of the best corn, and see that the horses eat it. You
understand?"
"Yes, baas," said the man, with a sharp click, as his eyes glistened and
he showed his white teeth in a satisfied grin. "Soon my baas go away,
give them good to eat."
"Is your baas going away?"
"Iss; saddle pony; go away."
As the black spoke he pointed to the farther end of the long mud-walled
shed, where another pony was tied up.
Just then the shrill voice of the Boer vrouw was heard calling, and the
Kaffir gave a shout in reply.
"Tant' Ann want um," he said, and he ran out, joined the lady at the
door, and was dismissed to get some fuel from a heap, while the farmer
came out, smoking away, and Ingleborough left the shed with West as if
to join him.
"Are you going to give him your opinion?" said West.
"No: we can't afford to quarrel. The Kaffir will take care of our nags
now, and get another tip for his pains."
The next minute they were close up to their host, who had evidently been
thinking over the words which had last been exchanged.
"You Englanders," he said, "think you are very clever; but the Boers
beat you before, and they're going to beat you more this time, and drive
you all into the sea."
"Very well!" said West, smiling. "I hope they'll give us time to get
into the ships."
"Perhaps!" said the Boer, smoking more rapidly in his excitement. "But
it's all going to be Dutch now! No more English!"
"All right," said Ingleborough; "but I want my supper very badly."
"Want to eat? Yes; come in! The vrouw says it is nearly ready."
"That's right; then let's have it."
"You can come in the house," continued the farmer, and Ingleborough
raised his eyebrows a little in surprise.
But a greater surprise awaited the pair on entering the mud-floored room
to find quite a decent meal awaiting them on the table, and their
sour-looking heavy hostess ready to wait on them with a kind of surly
civility.
The pair were too hungry to think of anything then but appeasing their
appetite, and they made a good meal, their host making no scruple about
bringing a stool to the table and taking a larger share than either.
He said little, but his little keen eyes examined everything in
connection with his visitors' costume, paying most heed to their
weapons, while his wife saw to the wants of all from time to time,
retiring at intervals to a second room which led out of the first and
seemed to have been added quite lately.
"You'll want to sleep soon?" said the farmer inquiringly, when the meal
was ended.
"Yes, the sooner the better," said Ingleborough, rising; an example
followed by West; "and we shall be off in the morning early. We'll take
a couple of these cakes."
The Boer nodded.
"Shall I sell you some biltong?" he said.
"Yes, certainly."
"I will have it ready. Where are you going now?"
"To look at the ponies."
"Oh, they are all well. My Kaffir has seen to them."
"But I suppose we are to sleep out there?" said Ingleborough.
"No," said the Boer; "you can sleep there," and he pointed to a
rough-looking bed in one corner of the room. "My Kaffir sleeps with the
horses. My vrouw and I sleep in the other room."
"Then as soon as we can we should like to turn this dining-room into our
bedroom," said Ingleborough.
"But we'll look at our ponies first."
The Boer grunted and proceeded to refill his pipe, while the two young
men went out and across to the rough shelter, where they found their
ponies looking evidently the better for a good feed, and the Kaffir
grinning and ready to pat their plumped-out figures, the ponies taking
the touch of his hand as a friendly caress.
"Eat a big lot," said the Kaffir, in the Boer tongue. "Ah, like this,"
and he held a native basket for their inspection, at the bottom of which
was a specimen of the corn with which the ponies had been fed.
"That's right, Jack! Capital; hard as shot! There's another shilling
for you!"
The Kaffir grinned again with delight as he took the money.
"Good baas!" he said. "Two good baas! Baas want boy, Jack come 'long
with you!"
"Not this time, my lad!"
"Very glad to come 'long with good baas!" said the man, in a
disappointed tone of voice.
"No, we can't take you, my lad," said West, patting the big fellow on
the shoulder. "Have the ponies saddled at daylight. We're going
early."
The black nodded his head, and the pair, weary enough now from their
long journey, and drowsy after their hearty meal, strode slowly back to
the house, to find that the table had been cleared, save that a couple
of big bread cakes lay on one end alongside of a little pile of biltong,
the sun-dried mahogany-looking strips of ox-flesh so much in use among
the rough farmers of the veldt.
The dirty-looking room smelt hot and stuffy, but a little window at the
back had been thrown open, and the soft air blowing from off miles of
plain made the place a little more bearable.
A common lamp had been lighted, and a streak of light came from beneath
the ill-fitting door which led into the other room, from which the low
murmur of voices could be heard as the young men entered talking
cheerily together.
This announced their return, and the door creaked upon its hinges,
giving entrance to the farmer, who pointed to the next day's provisions
and significantly held out his hand.
"How much?" said West, and the man demanded an unconscionable amount,
which made the pair exchange glances. But Ingleborough nodded as much
as to say: "Pay the thief!" and the money was handed over and taken with
a grunt. After this the Boer passed into the next room, closing the
door after him; but it did not prevent the acid voice of the vrouw from
reaching the visitors' ears as if to protest.
"The old scoundrel won't hand over the plunder," said Ingleborough, with
a chuckle. "I hope she'll give him what we didn't--a thorough good
tongue-thrashing."
He had hardly spoken when he found that he had jumped at a wrong
conclusion, for the door was pulled open again and the Boer reappeared.
"Tante Ann says you are to make haste and put out the lamp," he growled,
"for she don't want to be burned in her bed."
"All right, uncle," replied Ingleborough. "Good night, and bless you
for a fine specimen of the noble, freedom-loving Boer. Say good night
to Tante too, and tell her that our sleeping chamber is the very
perfection of domestic comfort."
"Hunk!" ejaculated the farmer, and he disappeared again.
"I wonder that he did not turn upon you," said West, rather
reproachfully; "he must have understood that you were speaking
sarcastically."
"Not he," said his companion. "Thick-headed, muddy-brained brute; more
like a quadruped than a man! The Kaffirs are gentlemen to some of these
up-country farmers, and yet they are the slaves."
"Too tired to discuss moral ethics!" said West sleepily; "but really
this place is awful. Agricultural implements in one corner, sacks of
something in another, horns, saddles, tools--oh, I'm too sleepy to go
on. Hallo! He has taken those two rifles away that were slung over
that low cupboard."
"To be sure; so he has! Afraid we should steal them, perhaps, and be
off before he woke! I say, did you notice how he examined ours?"
"Yes; I fancied he had noticed that they were Mausers."
"Oh no. They were fresh to him. Well, I'm going to take care that he
doesn't help himself to them. I don't know what you're going to do, but
I'm going to lie down on one side of that bed just as I am, bandolier
and all, and I vote we lay the rifles between us."
"I shall do the same," said West. "What do you say to leaving the door
and window open for the sake of the fresh air? No fear of lions here?"
"I don't know so much about that, but we should get some warning from
the horses and oxen. Bah! It's not likely. What now?"
There was a heavy thumping at the door leading into the other room, and
the vrouw's shrill voice was heard ordering them to put out the light.
"Tell her, West, that her royal commands shall be instantly obeyed by
her obedient slaves."
"Shan't," replied West. "That will quiet her," and he turned out the
light, putting an end to its abominable emanation of coarse petroleum,
while the soft starry light of a glorious night stole in, showing the
shapes of door and windows.
"Hah! That's better!" said Ingleborough, making the rough bedstead
creak as he laid himself gently down. "I hope none of these cartridges
will explode. Oh, how I can sleep!"
"And so can I," sighed West, "even dressed up like this," after laying
his rifle alongside of his companion's, straight down the middle of the
bed.
"We didn't tell Jack the Kaffir to bring our shaving-water at daybreak,"
said Ingleborough, who now that he was in a horizontal position seemed
to have suddenly grown wakeful. "I say."
"Well?"
"I wonder how our dear friend Anson is!"
West made no reply.
"I say! West!"
"Oh, don't talk, please. I want to sleep."
"All right, you shall, till I see the pearly dawn streaming in through
that little window at the back here. I say, though, if you hear me turn
round in the night and the cartridges begin to pop, just wake me up, or
there may be an accident."
West again made no reply.
"And we should have Tante Ann waking up, when there would be a greater
explosion still. There, good night!"
"Good night."
Then silence, save that the cry of some prowling creature far out on the
veldt sounded wonderfully like the baying of a dog.