As the party returned about midday to camp for lunch, they found a young man there who had just drawn rein for a moment to let his sweating horse breathe, and get a drink of water for himself.
‘Hillo! Whither away in such a hurry?’ hailed Steve in a hospitable way. ‘Stay and have lunch with us.’
‘I dare not. I am in a great hurry. Have you heard the news?’
‘No; what is it?’
‘Jameson has invaded Transvaal territory, and is marching on to Johannesburg.’
‘My God! is it true after all?’
‘Only too true. I am postmaster and telegraphist at H——, and I have just received a wire from headquarters to let the field cornet know at once, with orders for him to commandeer every available Burgher without a moment’s delay. They are to guard the borders against any further invasion from any other direction. The Burghers from Potchefstroom, Rustenburg and Krugersdorp are ordered to intercept Jameson and to capture him before he enters Johannesburg.’
‘May I know your name, sir?’ asked Steve.
‘Certainly; my name is A——n.’
‘But that is a British name, is it not?’