"What ails him?" I asked my comrade.
"Oh, he doesn't see men like ourselves every day," was the careless answer. How could I argue?
We kept on our way, and towards sundown reached a farm on the bank of the Vaal, simultaneously with another young fellow coming from the direction of the railway line.
It turned out that this farm belonged to his father. He himself had left home that morning with the intention of crossing the railway, but had found the line so well patrolled that he had given up the attempt. We stabled our horses and entered the small but comfortably furnished cottage, where we were presented to the other members of the family. After supper came the usual evening service. This was hardly over when we heard a loud knocking at the front door. The door was opened, and the strange-mannered old field-cornet entered.
He greeted us solemnly and sat down. Next came a thundering rap at the back door, and another Boer entered, a tall, powerful fellow, who was foaming at the mouth with suppressed excitement, and bristling with cartridge belts.
"My nephews," said the first-comer to us, "you must not take it amiss, but it is my duty to arrest you!"
"What for, uncle?"
"For being suspected of spying. You must either accompany me back to my farm, or let me take your horses there, so as to prevent your leaving here during the night."
"All right, uncle, take the horses, but don't forget to feed them well. But perhaps it would spare you trouble if you read our papers."
"It is easy to forge papers," said the old man. His companion now boiled over and broke in—