“Iss; saddle pony; go away.”
As the black spoke he pointed to the farther end of the long mud-walled shed, where another pony was tied up.
Just then the shrill voice of the Boer vrouw was heard calling, and the Kaffir gave a shout in reply.
“Tant’ Ann want um,” he said, and he ran out, joined the lady at the door, and was dismissed to get some fuel from a heap, while the farmer came out, smoking away, and Ingleborough left the shed with West as if to join him.
“Are you going to give him your opinion?” said West.
“No: we can’t afford to quarrel. The Kaffir will take care of our nags now, and get another tip for his pains.”
The next minute they were close up to their host, who had evidently been thinking over the words which had last been exchanged.
“You Englanders,” he said, “think you are very clever; but the Boers beat you before, and they’re going to beat you more this time, and drive you all into the sea.”
“Very well!” said West, smiling. “I hope they’ll give us time to get into the ships.”
“Perhaps!” said the Boer, smoking more rapidly in his excitement. “But it’s all going to be Dutch now! No more English!”