"Is this the road to Vrede?"
"Yes," he faltered.
"Thanks. Good-night," and we rode away. It might be easy to shoot a traitor in cold blood, but to try and trap a man into uttering his own condemnation seemed too cruel.
The next place we came to was a miserable-looking hovel standing by the wayside. The door was opened by an old man.
"Good evening, uncle. Can you sell us a few bundles of forage?"
"Good evening. Yes, certainly. Come inside. It's a poor dwelling, but you are welcome. Johnny, take the horses and put them in the stable. Won't you join us at supper?"
Our appetites needed no stimulating, and we at once joined the family, who had just been sitting down to table when we arrived. After the meal our horses were saddled and brought to the door.
"What do we owe you for the forage?" we asked. It would be an insult under any circumstance to offer to pay a Boer for a meal, "paying guests" being still unknown to our benighted nation.
"No, my friends," he said. "I am poor, but I can't take your money. We are all working for our country, and must help each other."
"That's true, but you must really allow us to pay."