‘Yes, there is a place. Old Silas Prinsloo lives there—but—’ and the old man smiled, ‘he is very Kwaai’ (bad-humoured).
‘Too Kwaai to sell us some forage for our horses?’
‘Well, you see, some Smouses cheated the old man several times, and if you are taken for Smouses (traders or hawkers), you must look out and get out of his way; and he seems to suspect all strangers with a cart laden as yours is for Smouses.’
‘Well, we will try at all events,’ said Steve.
They set out, well directed as to which roads to take and which to leave; and after the previous day’s predicament, took good care to go right.
After several hours’ travelling, they arrived at a house which, from the description they had heard, they correctly surmised to belong to Oom Silas Prinsloo. They halted in front of the door. An old man with a stern countenance was leaning over the bottom half of the door, surveying them with a threatening and severe cast of countenance. He did not speak.
‘Good-day, Mijnheer!’ began Steve.
‘Good day!’
‘Who lives here, Mijnheer?’
‘What has that got to do with you?’ severely.