“If he is telling them the weak points it’s downright treason,” said West bitterly, after a glance out of the wagon in the direction of the rocks on which lay his jacket.
“It’s stand him up with a firing party, and a sergeant with a revolver to finish the work if it isn’t quite done,” said Ingleborough. “The cowardly scoundrel: he’ll be getting his deserts at last! I say, though, isn’t it sickening? A blackguard like that, who doesn’t stop at anything to gain his ends!”
For Anson had finished speaking and the Boers had closed round him, patting him on the back and pressing forward one after the other to shake his hand, while he smiled at them in his mildest, blandest way.
After a few more friendly words the ex-clerk began slouching slowly up, followed by half-a-dozen of the principal men, till he was close to the tail of the prison wagon where West and Ingleborough were seated trying to look perfectly indifferent, but the former with his heart beating heavily and a flush coming hotly into his cheeks, when the Boers stopped short, leaving Anson to speak, listening the while as if they anticipated a little amusement from their new friend the informer hailing the prisoners in the wain.
“Hullo!” cried Anson, with one of his most irritating smiles—one full of the triumph over them he enjoyed and the contempt he felt, “hullo! Who’d have thought that the virtuous West and the enthusiastic sham detective Ingleborough would have come out here to join the Boers? But don’t tell me. I know: I can see how it is. You’ve both been bled, and that’s let some of the bounce out of you.”
He stopped for a moment for those he insulted to reply, but as they both sat looking at him in cool contempt he went on jeeringly: “The Boers know what they’re about, I see. When a horse has the megrims they bleed him in the ear, and judging that the same plan would do for a donkey they’ve bled cocky West there, and bull-headed Ingleborough on the skull.”
West’s face grew of a deeper red, and he drew in a long deep breath, for those of the Boers who understood English burst into a hearty laugh at this sally of the renegade’s.
“Well, I’m glad of it!” continued Anson, taking the Boers’ laughter as so much approval. “It was all you wanted, Bully West, and I daresay, now that you’ve come to your senses, you’ll make a decent Boer. There, I’ll give you a recommendation for a clerkship, for you do really write a decent hand.”
“Say thanks,” growled Ingleborough, with a sneer which told of his contempt; “he will no doubt have plenty of interest. He has come up to lead the Boer army’s band and give lessons on the flute.”
Anson started as if he had been stung.