Читать книгу The Kopje Garrison - George Manville Fenn - Страница 12

Matters looked anything but hopeful at Groenfontein, though the men were full of spirits and eager to respond to any of the attacks made by the Boers, who, with three commandos, thoroughly shut them in, joining hands and completely cutting off all communication.

Time was gliding on without any sign of help from outside, and the beleaguered party would have concluded that they were quite forgotten by their friends if they had not felt certain that the different generals were fully engaged elsewhere.

“Let’s see,” said Lennox one evening; “we’ve been attacked every day since our fishing-trip.”

“That’s right; and the Boers have been beaten every day for a week.”

“And yet they are as impudent as over. They think that we shall surrender as soon as we grow a little more hungry.”

“Then they’ll be sold,” said Dickenson, “for the hungrier I grow the more savage and full of fight I get. You know about the old saying of some fellow, that when he had had a good dinner a child might play with him?”

“Oh yes, I know,” said Lennox. “Well, these children of the desert had better not try to play with me.”

“Ought to have a notice on you, ‘Take care; he bites’—eh?” said Lennox merrily.

“ ’M, yes; something of the kind. I say, I wish, though, I could sleep without dreaming.”

“Can’t you?”

“No; it’s horrible. I go to sleep directly I lie down, and then the game begins. I’m at Christmas dinners or banquets or parties, and the tables are covered with good things. Then either they’ve got no taste in them, or else as soon as I try to cut a slice or take up a mouthful in a spoon it’s either snatched or dragged away.”

“Oh, don’t talk about food,” said Lennox impatiently; “it makes me feel sick. There’s one comfort, though.”

“Is there?” cried Dickenson excitedly. “Where? Give us a bit.”

“Nonsense! I mean we have plenty of that beautiful spring water.”

“Ugh!” cried Dickenson, with a shudder. “Cold and clear, unsustaining. I saw some water once through a microscope, and it was full of live things twizzling about in all directions. That’s the sort of water we want now—something to eat in it as well as drink.”

Lennox made an irritable gesture.

“Talk about something else, man,” he cried. “You think of nothing but eating and drinking.”

“That’s true, old man. Well, I’ll say no more about drinking; but I wonder how cold roast prisoner would taste?”

“Bob!” shouted Lennox.

“Well, what shall I talk about?”

“Look about you. See how beautiful the kopjes and mountains look in the distance this evening; they seem to glow with orange and rose and gold.”

“There you go again! You’re always praising up this horrid place.”

“Well, isn’t it beautiful? See how clear the air is.”

“I dare say. But I don’t want clear air; I’d rather it was thick as soup if it tasted like it.”

“Soup! There you go again. Think of how lovely it is down by the river.”

“With the Boers popping at you? I say, this ear of mine doesn’t heal up.”

“You don’t mind the doctor’s orders.”

“So much fighting to do; haven’t time.”

“But you grant it is beautiful down by the river?”

“Yes, where only man is vile—very vile indeed; does nothing all day but try to commit murder. But there, it’s of no use for you to argue; I think South Africa is horrible. Look at the miles of wretched dusty desert and stony waste. I don’t know what we English want with it.”

“Room for our colonists, and to develop the mines. Look at the diamonds.”

“Look at our sparkling sea at home.”

“Look at the gold.”

“I like looking at a good golden furzy common in Surrey. It’s of no use, Drew, my lad; it’s a dismal, burning, freezing place.”

“Why don’t you throw it up and go home, then?”

“What! before we’ve beaten the Boers into a state of decency? No!”

Bob Dickenson’s “No!” was emphatic enough for anything, and brought the conversation between the two young men to an end; for it was close upon the time for the mess dinner, which, whatever its shortcomings, as Bob Dickenson said, was jolly punctual, even if there was no tablecloth.

So they descended from where they had perched themselves close up to the big gun, where their commanding position gave them the opportunity for making a wide sweep round over the karoo, taking in, too, the wooded course of the river and the open country beyond in the possession of the Boers.

But they had seen no sign of an enemy or grazing horse; though they well knew that if a company of their men set off in any direction, before they had gone a quarter of a mile they would be pelted with bullets by an unseen foe.

They had seen the walls and rifle-pits which guarded the great gun so often that they hardly took their attention. All the same, though, soldier-like, Drew Lennox could not help thinking how naturally strong the kopje was, how easy it would be for two or three companies of infantry to hold it against a force of ten times their number, and what tremendous advantages the Boers had possessed in the nature of their country. For they had only had to sit down behind the natural fortifications and set an enemy at defiance.

“It’s our turn now,” Lennox said to himself, “and we could laugh at them for months if only we had a supply of food.”

“Let’s try this way,” said Dickenson, bearing off to his left.

“What for? It’s five times as hard as the regular track, and precipitous.”

“Not so bad but what we can do it. We can let one another down if we come to one of the wall-like bits too big to jump.”

“But it’s labour for nothing. Only make you more hungry,” added Lennox, with a laugh.

“Never mind; I want to make sure that an enemy could not steal up in the dark and surprise the men in charge of the gun. I’m always thinking that the Boers will steal a march on us and take it some day.”

“You might save yourself the trouble as far as the climbing up is concerned. This is the worst bit; but they could do it, I feel sure, if our sentries were lax. I don’t think they’d get by them, though.”

“Well, let’s have a good look what it is like, now all the crags are lit up.”

They were lit up in a most wonderful way by the sun, which was just about to dip below the horizon, and turned every lightning-shivered mass of tumbled-together rock into a glowing state, making it look as if it was red-hot, while the rifts and cracks which had been formed here and there were lit up so that their generally dark depths could be searched by the eye.

“Do you know what this place looks like?” said Dickenson.

“The roughest spot in the world,” replied Drew as he lowered himself down a perpendicular, precipitous bit which necessitated his hanging by his hands, and then dropping four or five feet.

“No! It’s just as if the giants of old had made a furnace at the top of the kopje, and had been pouring the red-hot clinkers down the side.”

“Or as if it was the slope of a volcano, and those were the masses of pumice which had fallen and rolled down.”

“So that we look like a couple of flies walking amongst lumps of sugar. Well, yours is a good simile, but not so romantic as mine. That’s a deep crack, Drew, old chap. Like to see how far in it goes?”

“No, thanks. I want my dinner,” said Lennox.

“Dinner! Mealie cake and tough stewed horse.”

“Wrong,” said Lennox; “it’s beef to-night, for I asked.”

“Beef! Don’t insult the muscle-giving food of a Briton by calling tough old draught-ox beef. I don’t know but what I would rather have a bit of cheval—chevril, or whatever they call it—if it wasn’t for that oily fat. But we might as well peep in that crack. Perhaps there’s a cavern.”

“Not to-day, Bob. It’s close upon mess-time.”

“Hark at him! Prefers food for the body to food for the mind. Very well. Go on; I’m at your heels.”

They descended to the more level part of the granite-strewn eminence, acknowledged the salutes of the sentries they passed, and soon after reached the mean-looking collection of tin houses that formed the village—though there was very little tin visible, the only portion being a barricade or two formed of biscuit-tins, which had been made bullet-proof in building up a wall by filling them with earth or sand. The tin houses, according to the popular term, were really the common grey corrugated iron so easily riveted or screwed together into a hut, and forming outer and partition walls, and fairly rain-proof roofing, but as ugly in appearance as hot beneath the torrid sun.

Groenfontein consisted of a group of this class of house ranged about a wide market-square, while here and there outside were warehouses and sheds and a few farms.

Bob Dickenson said it was the ugliest and dirtiest place that ever called itself a town; and he was fairly right about the former. As to the latter, it might have been worse. Its greatest defect was the litter of old meat and other tins, while there were broken bottles enough to act as a defence when attacked by strangers.

The Boer inhabitants had for the most part fled; those who were left lived under the protection of the British force, which they preferred to being out on commando, using rifle, and risking their lives.

The empty houses left by the former inhabitants had at once been taken possession of for officers’ and soldiers’ quarters; the long warehouses and barns for stabling; and a big wool warehouse, happily containing many bales of wool, had been turned into mess and club room, the great bales making excellent couches, and others forming breastworks inside the windows and the big double doors.

Here the officers off duty lounged and rested, and here upon this particular night they were gathered round the social board to dine, each officer with his own servant; and it is worthy of remark that with officer and man, rifle, revolver, and sword were racked close at hand.

“Round the social board” is a most appropriate term, though not quite correct; for, while social in the highest degree, quite a brotherly spirit influencing the officers present, the board was really two, held together by a couple of cross-pieces and laid upon barrels, while the seats were of all kinds, from cartridge-boxes to up-ended flour-barrels, branded Na. and Pa. and Va., and various other contractions of long-sounding United States names, which indicated where the fine white flour they once contained had been grown and ground.

The mess cook had done the best he could, and provided some excellent bread, but it was rather short in quantity. As to the meat, it was hot; but there were no dish-covers, which Bob Dickenson said did not matter in the least, for during the past few weeks they had been careful to draw a veil over the food.

But of water, such as needed no filtering, there was ample, ready for quaffing out of tin mug, silver flask, cup, or horn.

“And the beauty of our tipple now is,” said Bob, “that it never does a fellow the least harm.”

It was a favourite remark of his, “an impromptu” that had been much admired. He made the remark again on this particular evening, but his tones sounded dismal.

“It’s a great blessing, though,” he added; “we might have none. Yes, capital water,” he continued, draining his cup and setting it down with a rap on his part of the board. “Just think, Drew, old man, we might be forced to sit here drinking bad champagne.”

“I don’t want to drink bad or good champagne, old fellow,” said Lennox; “but I do wish we had a barrel of good, honest, home-brewed British ale, with—”

“A brace of well-roasted pheasants between us two—eh?”

“No; I was going to say, a good crusty loaf and a cut off a fine old Stilton cheese.”

“J-Ja!” sighed the next man.

“Never mind, gentlemen,” said the colonel; “what we have will do to work upon. When we’ve done our work, and get back home, I’ll be bound to say that John Bull will ask us to dinner oftener than will do us good. What do you say, doctor?”

“What do I say, Colonel Lindley?” cried the doctor, putting down his flask-cup. “I say this Spartan fare agrees with us all admirably. Look round the table, and see what splendid condition we are all in. A bit spare, but brown, wiry, and active as men can be. Never mind the food. You are all living a real life on the finest air I ever breathed. We are all pictures of health now; and where I have a wound to deal with it heals fast—a sure sign that the patient’s flesh is in a perfect state.”

“It’s all very fine,” said Bob Dickenson in a low voice to those about him. “Old Bolus keeps himself up to the mark by taking nips; that’s why he’s so well and strong.”

“Nonsense!” said Lennox sharply. “I don’t believe he ever touches spirits except as a medicine.”

“Who said he did?” growled Dickenson.

“You, Bob; we all heard you,” chorused several near.

“Take my oath I never mentioned spirits. I said nips.”

“Well, you meant them,” said Lennox.

“I didn’t. Don’t you jump at conclusions, Drew, old man. I meant nips of tonics. Old M.D. has got a lot of curious chemicals in that medicine-chest of his, and when he’s a bit down he takes nips of them.”

“I don’t believe it,” said a brother officer, laughing. “Old Emden, M.D., take his own physic? Too clever for that!”

The darkness had closed in soon after the officers had taken their seats—early, after tropic fashion—and one of the messmen had lit four common-looking paraffin-lamps, which swung from the rafters, smelt vilely of bad spirit, and smoked and cast down a dismal light; but the men were in high spirits, chatting away, and the meal being ended, many of them had started pipes or rolled up cigarettes, when an orderly was seen to enter by the door nearest the colonel’s seat and make quickly for his place.

There was a cessation of the conversation on the instant, and one motion made by every officer present—he glanced at the spot where his sword and revolver hung, while their servants turned their eyes to the rifle-stands and bandoliers, listening intently for the colonel’s next order: for the coming of the orderly could only mean one thing under their circumstances—an advance of the Boers.

They were right. But the increased action of their pulses began to calm down again; for instead of standing up according to his wont and giving a few short, sharp orders, the colonel, after turning towards the orderly and hearing him out, merely raised his eyes and smiled.

“Wonders will never cease, gentlemen,” he said, and he sent a soft, grey cloud of cigarette smoke upward towards the roof of the barn. “You all remember our prisoners, brought in after Lennox and Dickenson’s fishing expedition?”

There was an eager chorus of “Yes” from all present save the two young officers mentioned, and they were too eager in listening to speak.

“Well, gentlemen, I told those men that the wisest thing they could do was to go back to their farms, give up fighting, and collect and bring into camp here a good supply of corn and beef.”

“Yes, sir, I heard you,” said Captain Roby, for the colonel paused to take two or three whiffs from his cigarette.

“Well, gentlemen, you will hardly credit the news I have received when you recall what took place, and be ready to place some faith in a Boer’s sound common-sense.”

“Why doesn’t he speak out at once?” said Dickenson in a whisper. “Who wants all this rigmarole of a preface?”

“What is it, colonel?” said the major.

“That Boer, the leader of the little party of prisoners, evidently took my advice,” continued the colonel; “and instead of rejoining his fighting friends, he has gone back to the ways of peace and trade, and they have just arrived at the outposts with a couple of wagon-loads of grain, a score of sheep, and ten oxen.”

The news was received with a shout, and as soon as silence was obtained the colonel continued: “It seems incredible; but, after all, it is only the beginning of what must come to pass. For, once the Boer is convinced that it is of no use to fight, he will try his best to make all he can out of his enemies.”

“Well, it’s splendid news,” said the major; “but what about its being some cunning trap?”

“That is what I am disposed to suspect,” said the colonel; “so, quietly and without stir, double the outposts, send word to the men on the kopje to be on the alert, and let everything, without any display of force, be ready for what may come. You, Captain Roby, take half a company to meet our visitors, and bring the welcome provender into the market-place here.”

“Bob,” whispered Lennox, “if we could only go with Roby! There’ll be a couple of score of the enemy hiding amongst those sacks.”

“Get out!” responded Dickenson. “I never did see such an old cock-and-bull inventor as you are. It’s stale, too. You’re thinking of the old story of the fellows who took the castle by riding in a wagon loaded with grass and them underneath. Then it was driven in under the portcullis, which was dropped at the first alarm, and came down chop on the wagon and would go no farther, while the fellows hopped out through the grass and took the castle. Pooh! What’s the good of being so suspicious? These Boers are tired of fighting, and they’ve taken the old man’s advice about trade.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Lennox firmly. “I wouldn’t trust the Boers a bit.”

“Well, don’t believe it, then; but let’s go and see what they’ve brought, all the same.”

“Yes, certainly; but let’s put the colonel on his guard.”

“What! Go and tell him what you think?”

“Certainly.”

“Thanks, no, dear boy. I have only one nose, and I want it.”

“What do you mean?” said Lennox sharply.

“Don’t want it snapped off, as they say. The idea of the cheek—going and teaching our military grandmother—father, I mean, how to suck eggs!”

“You never will believe till the thing’s rammed down your throat,” said Lennox angrily. “Well, come along as we have no orders.”

And without further discussion the two young men buckled on their belts and followed Captain Roby, who, while the colonel’s other instructions were being carried out, marched his men down to where some of the Boer party, well-guarded by the outposts, could be dimly seen squatted about or seated on the fronts of two well-loaded wagons, whose teams were tying down contentedly chewing the cud. Four more Boers kept the sheep and oxen in the rear of the wagons from straying away in search of a place to graze, for there was a tempting odour of fresh green herbage saluting their nostrils, along with the pleasant moisture rising from the trickling water hurrying away towards the gully where it found its way into the river.

“What do you say to telling Roby to set a man to probe the sacks with a fixed bayonet?”

“It would be wise,” whispered back Lennox.

“Tchah!” sneered Dickenson. “How could a fellow exist under one of those sacks of corn? Why, they must weigh on to a couple of hundredweight.”

“I don’t care; there’s some dodge, Bob, I’m sure.”

“Artful dodge, of course. Here, let’s see if we know the fellows again.”

“Very well; but be on your guard.”

“Bother! Roby and his men will mind we are not hurt.”

As he spoke Dickenson led the way close up to the roughly-clad Boers about the wagons, where, in spite of the darkness, the face of their leader was easy to make out as he sat pulling away at a big German pipe well-filled with a most atrociously bad tobacco, evidently of home growth and make.

“Hullo, old chap!” said Dickenson heartily; “so you’ve thought better of it?”

The Boer looked at him sharply, and, recognising the speaker, favoured him with a nod.

“Brought us some provender?” continued Dickenson; and he received another nod.

“What have you got?”

The Boer wagged his head sidewise towards the wagons and herds, and went on smoking.

“Well done; that’s better than trying to pot us. But, I say, what about your commando fellows? What will they say when you go back?”

The Boer took his pipe out of his mouth and stuffed a finger into the bowl to thrust down the loose tobacco.

“Nothing,” he said shortly. “Not going back.”

“What!” cried Lennox, joining in after pretty well satisfying himself that there could be no danger in the unarmed Boers and their wagons.

“What’s what?” said the Boer sourly.

“You’re not going back?” cried Dickenson, staring.

“Well, we can’t go back, of course. If we tried they’d shoot us, wouldn’t they?”

The reply seemed to be unanswerable, and Dickenson merely uttered a grunt, just as Captain Roby and his men marched up to form an escort for the little convoy.

“Well, commandant?” he said.

The Boer grunted. “Not commandant,” he said; “field-cornet.”

“Very well, field-cornet; how did you manage to get here?”

“ ’Cross the veldt,” growled the man.

“Didn’t you see any of your friends?”

“No,” grumbled the Boer. “If we had we shouldn’t be here. Have you got the money for what we’ve got?”

“No.”

“Stop, then. We’re not going on.”

“But you must now. The colonel will give you an order.”

“Paper?” said the Boer sharply.

“Yes.”

“Then we don’t go.”

“Yes, you do, my obstinate friend. It will be an order to an official here, and he’ll pay you a fair price at once—in gold.”

“My price?”

“Oh, that I can’t say,” replied the captain. “But I promise you will be fairly dealt with.”

The Boer put his burning pipe in his pocket, snatched off his battered slouch felt hat, and gave his shaggy head an angry rub, looking round at his companions as if for support, and then staring back at the way they had come, to see lanterns gleaming and the glint of bayonets dimly here and there, plainly showing him that retreat was out of the question. Then, like some bear at bay, he uttered what sounded like a low growl, though in fact it was only a remark to the man nearest to him, a similar growl coming in reply.

“Come, sir, no nonsense,” said the captain sternly. “You have come to sell, I suppose?”

“I shouldn’t be here if I hadn’t,” growled the Boer.

“Then come along. You cannot go back now. I have told you that you will be well treated. Please to recollect that if our colonel chose he could commando everything you have brought for the use of our force; but he prefers to treat all of your people who bring supplies as straightforward traders. Now come along.”

The Boer grunted, glanced back once more, and at last, as if he had thoroughly grasped his position, said a few words to his nearest companions and passed the word to trek, when, in answer to the crack of the huge whip, the bullocks sprang to their places along the trek-tows, the wagons creaked and groaned, and the little convoy was escorted into the market-place, where, as soon as he saw him, the field-cornet made for the colonel’s side and began like one with a grievance.

But the amount of cash to be paid was soon settled, and the Boer’s objections died away. The only difficulty then left was about the Boers’ stay.

“If we go back they’ll shoot us,” he said to the colonel. “We’ve brought you the provisions you asked for, and when you’ve eaten all you’ll want more, and we’ll go and fetch everything; but you must have us here now.”

“My good sir,” said the colonel, to the intense amusement of the officers assembled, who enjoyed seeing their chief, as they termed him, in a corner, “I have enough mouths to feed here; you must go back to the peaceable among your own people.”

“Peaceable? There are none peaceable now. Look here: do you want to send us back to fight against you?” cried the Boer cornet indignantly.

“Certainly not,” said the colonel; “and I would not advise you to, for your own sake.”

“Then what are we to do? We got away with these loads of mealies, but it will be known to-morrow. We can’t go back, and it’s all your doing.”

“Well, I confess that it is hard upon you,” said the colonel; “but, as I have told you, I am not going to take the responsibility of feeding more mouths.”

“But we’ve just brought you plenty.”

“Which will soon be gone,” cried the colonel.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” said the Boer, with a grin full of cunning; “we know where to get plenty more.”

The colonel turned and looked at the major, who returned the look with interest, for these last words opened up plenty of possibilities for disposing of a terrible difficulty in the matter of supplies.

“I don’t much like the idea, major,” he said in a low tone.

“No; couldn’t trust the fellow,” was the reply. “May be a ruse.”

“At the same time it may be simple fact,” continued the colonel. “Of course he would be well aware of the whereabouts of stores, for the enemy always seem to have abundance. But no; it would be too great a risk.”

“All the same, though,” said the major, who afterwards confessed to visions of steaks and roast mutton floating before his mind, “the fellow would be forced to be honest with us, for he would be holding his life by a very thin thread.”

“Exactly,” said the colonel eagerly. “We could let him know that at the slightest suggestion of treachery we should shoot him and his companions without mercy.”

“Make him understand that,” said the major; and while the Boer party stood waiting and watching by the two wagons, which had been drawn into the square, a little council of war was held by the senior officers, in which the pros and cons were discussed.

“It’s a dangerous proceeding,” said the colonel, in conclusion; “but one thing is certain—we cannot hold this place long without food, and it is all-important that it should be held, so we must risk it. Perhaps the fellows are honest after all. If they are not—”

“Yes,” said the major, giving his chief a meaning look; “if they are not—”

And the unfinished sentence was mentally taken up by the other officers, both Lennox and Dickenson looking it at one another, so to speak.

Then the colonel turned to the Boer cornet.

“Look here, sir,” he said; “I am a man of few words, but please understand that I mean exactly what I say. You and your companions can stay here upon the condition that you are under military rule. Your duty will be to forage for provisions when required. You will be well treated, and have the same rations as the men; but you will only leave the place when my permission is given, and I warn you that if any of you are guilty of an act that suggests you are playing the spy, it will mean a spy’s fate. You know what I mean?”

“Oh, of course I do,” growled the Boer. “Just as if it was likely! You don’t seem to have a very good opinion of us burghers.”

“You have not given us cause to think well of you,” said the colonel sternly. “Now we understand each other. But of course you will have to work with the men, and now you had better help to unload the wagons.”

The cornet nodded, and turned to his companions, who had been watching anxiously at a little distance; and as soon as they heard the colonel’s verdict they seemed at ease.

A few minutes later the regimental butchers had taken charge of one of the oxen and a couple of sheep, whose fate was soon decided in the shambles, and the men gathered round to cheer at the unwonted sight of the carcasses hung up to cool.

Meanwhile an end of one of the warehouses had been set apart for the new supply of grain, and the Boers worked readily enough with a batch of the soldiers at unloading and storing, with lanterns hung from the rafters to gleam on the bayonets of the appointed guard, the sergeant and his men keeping a strict lookout, in which they were imitated by the younger officers, Lennox and Dickenson waiting, as the latter laughingly said, for the smuggled-in Boers, who of course did not appear.

Lennox made it his business to stand close to the tail-board of one of the wagons, in which another lantern was hung, and with the sergeant he gave every sack a heavy punch as it was dragged to the edge ready for the Boers to shoulder and walk off into the magazine.

Seeing this, the Boer chief, now all smiles and good humour, made for the next sack, untied the tarred string which was tied round the mouth, opened it, and called to the sergeant to stand out of the light.

“I want the officers to see what beautiful corn it is,” he said.

The sergeant reached up into the wagon-tilt to lift down the lantern from where he had hung it to one of the tilt-bows.

“No, no,” cried the Boer; “you needn’t do that, boss. They can see. There,” he cried, thrusting in both hands and scooping as much as he could grasp, and letting the glistening yellow grains fall trickling back in a rivulet again and again. “See that? Hard as shot. Smell it. Fresh. This year’s harvest. I know where there’s enough to feed four or five thousand men.”

“Yes, it looks good,” said Dickenson, helping himself to a handful, and putting a grain into his mouth. “Sweet as a nut, Drew, but as hard as flint. Fine work for the teeth.”

“Yes,” said the Boer, grinning. “You English can’t grind that up with your teeth. Wait till it’s boiled, though, or pounded up and made into mealie. Ha! Make yours skins shine like the Kaffirs’.”

“You don’t want these sacks back, I suppose?” said the sergeant who was superintending. “Because if you do I’d better have them emptied.”

“Oh no, oh no,” said the Boer. “Keep it as it is; it will be cleaner.”

“Why are some of the sacks tied up with white string and some with black?” said Lennox suddenly.

“Came from different farms,” said the Boer, who overheard the remark. “Here, I’ll open that one; it’s smaller corn.”

He signed to one of his fellows to set down the sack he was about to shoulder, and opening it, he went through the same performance again, shovelling up the yellow grain with his hands. “Not quite so good as the other sort,” he said; “it’s smaller, but it yields better in the fields.”

“Humph! I don’t see much difference in it,” said Lennox, taking up a few grains and following his friend’s example.

“No?” said the Boer, chuckling as he scooped up a double handful and tossed it up, to shine like gold in the light. “You are not a farmer, and have not grown thousands of sacks of it. I have.”

He drew the mouth of the sack together again and tied it with its white string, when it too was borne off through the open doorway to follow its predecessors.

“That roof sound?” said the Boer, pointing up at the corrugated iron sheeting.

“Oh yes, that’s all right,” said the sergeant.

“Good,” said the Boer. “Pity to let rain come through on grain like that. Make it swell and shoot.”

The first wagon was emptied and the second begun, the Boers working splendidly till it was nearly emptied; and then the cornet turned to Captain Roby.

“Don’t you want some left out,” he said, “to use at once?”

“Yes,” said the captain; “leave out six, and we’ll hand them over to the bakers and cooks.”

Three of the white-tied and three of the black-tied sacks were selected by the field-cornet, who told his men to shoulder them, and they were borne off at once to the iron-roofed hut which was used as a store. Then the wagons being emptied, they were drawn on one side, and the captain turned to consult Lennox about what hut was to be apportioned to the Boers for quarters.

“Why not make them take to the wagons?” said Dickenson.

“Not a bad notion,” replied Captain Roby; and just at that moment, well buttoned up in their greatcoats—for the night was cold—the colonel and major came round.

“Where are you going to quarter these men, Roby?” said the former.

“Mr. Dickenson here, sir, has just suggested that they shall keep to their wagons.”

“Of course,” said the colonel; “couldn’t be better. They’ll be well under observation, major—eh?”

“Yes,” said that officer shortly; and it was announced to the field-cornet that his party were to make these their quarters.

This was received with a smile of satisfaction, the Boers dividing into two parties, each going to a wagon quite as a matter of course, and taking a bag from where it hung.

Ten minutes later they had dipped as much fresh water as they required from the barrels that swung beneath, and were seated, knife in hand, eating the provisions they had brought with them, while when the colonel and major came round again it was to find the lanterns out, the Dutchmen in their movable quarters, some smoking, others giving loud announcement that they were asleep, and close at hand and with all well under observation a couple of sentries marching up and down.

“I think they’re honest,” said the colonel as the two officers walked away.

“I’m beginning to think so too,” was the reply.

A short time before, Lennox and his companion had also taken a farewell glance at the bearers of so valuable an adjunct to the military larder, and Dickenson had made a similar remark to that of his chief, but in a more easy-going conversational way.

“Those chaps mean to be square, Drew, old man,” he said.

“Think so?”

“Yes; so do you. What else could they mean?”

“To round upon us.”

“How? What could they do?”

“Get back to their people and speak out, after spying out the weakness of the land.”

“Pooh! What good would that do, you suspicious old scribe? Their account’s right enough; they proved it by the plunder they brought and their eagerness to sack as much tin as they could for it.”

“I don’t know,” said Lennox; “the Boers are very slim.”

“Mentally—granted; but certainly not bodily, old man. Bah! Pitch it over; you suspect every thing and everybody. I know you believe I nobbled those last cigarettes of yours.”

“So you did.”

“Didn’t,” said Dickenson, throwing himself down upon the board which formed his bed, for they had returned to their quarters. “You haven’t a bit of faith in a fellow.”

“Well, the cigarettes were on that shelf the night before last, and the next morning they were gone.”

“In smoke,” said Dickenson, with a yawn.

“There, what did I say?”

“You said I took them, and I didn’t; but I’ve a shrewd suspicion that I know who did smoke them.”

“Who was it?” said Lennox shortly.

“You.”

“I declare I didn’t.”

“Declare away, old man. I believe you went to sleep hungry.”

“Oh yes, you may believe that, and add ‘very’ to it. Well, what then?”

“You went to sleep, began dreaming, and got up and smoked the lot in your sleep.”

“You’re five feet ten of foolishness,” said Lennox testily as he lay down in his greatcoat.

“And you’re an inch in height less of suspicion,” said Dickenson, and he added a yawn.

“Well, hang the cigarettes! I am tired. I say, I’m glad we have no posts to visit to-night.”

“Hubble, bubble, burr,”—said Dickenson indistinctly.

“Bah! what a fellow you are to sleep!” said Lennox peevishly. “I wanted to talk to you about—about—about—”

Nothing; for in another moment he too was asleep and dreaming that the Boers had bounded out of their wagons, overcome the sentries, seized their rifles, and then gone on from post to post till all were well armed. After that they had crept in single file up the kopje, mastered the men in charge of the captured gun, and then tied the two trek-tows together and carried it off to their friends, though he could not quite settle how it was they got the two spans of oxen up among the rocks ready when required.

Not that this mattered, for when he woke in the morning at the reveille and looked out the oxen were absent certainly, being grazing in the river grass in charge of a guard; but the Boers were present, lighting a fire and getting their morning coffee ready, the pots beginning to send out a fragrant steam.