"To tell the truth, I have been guarding you all night. But all the same, I don't believe that you are spies. Come and have some coffee."
We had just finished our coffee when we heard horses' hoofs coming along the road, and presently one of our friends from the farm near Greylingstad entered the room.
"I've brought your horses," he said, smiling merrily. "I passed the old field-cornet's this morning and told him I could certify that you are no spies."
Whilst we were saddling up the field-cornet and his companion of the night before arrived. The latter was now sober. They were profuse in apologies.
"You were angry last night because we had no rifles; you had more reason to be glad," I remarked to the field-cornet's assistant.
"Why?"
"Because if I had been armed I might have been imprudent enough to blow your brains out when you pointed your gun at me. And how awful that would have been!"
"Man," he said, "it's the cursed drink."
"Well," said I, "it's all over now. Good-bye!" Off we went—my comrade, myself, and the man who had brought our horses, Delange. The latter had an achter ryder and two spare horses. Towards noon we reached the farm of one of Delange's friends. My mount was now thoroughly done up, having eaten almost nothing for three days. I asked the farmer if he had a horse for sale.
"There are several in the stable," he replied, "but they belong to my son, and he is on commando; so I am sorry, but I can't sell you one."