Now a sound of distant lowing, and the occasional clear shout of the driver, told that his own herd was being driven in for the night; and then the calves which had already been brought in woke up, in responsive bellow, to greet the approaching herd. Lamont rose and went round to the kraal. Here was a possible source of anxiety, and narrowly and eagerly did he scan the animals as they passed him, lest haply he might discern symptoms of the dread pestilence. But none appeared, nor did a closer investigation as he moved about within the kraal show further cause for anxiety. So preoccupied was he with this that he entirely failed to notice the approach of a horseman in the growing dusk, until the circumstance was brought to his notice by the sharp crack of a whip and a cheery hail.
“Evenin’, Lamont.”
“Peters, by George! Well, I said you’d be back to-night. You’re as punctual as a jolly clock, old man.”
The speaker was outside the gate now, and the two men exchanged a cordial hand-grip.
“Jolly glad you are back too,” he went on. “I’ve got on a fit of holy blues to-night.”
“Oh well, then, it’s a good job I’ve brought along a chum. He’ll help liven you.”
“A chum? Where is he?”
“With the carts. They’re about at the three-mile draai now. His horse knocked out. This was the way of it,” went on Peters, who, having off-saddled his own mount and handed it over to a boy, led the way to the house. “You know Fuliya’s bend on the Pagadi road. No, you don’t? Well, no matter. Here’s luck, old man.”
Down went two long tumblers of whisky-and-selzogene.
“We’ll have another when the other chap turns up,” said Peters, with a jolly laugh. “Well, as I was saying, just before I got to that bend I saw two ugly Makalakas cross the road.”