“Shall I sell you some biltong?” he said.
“Yes, certainly.”
“I will have it ready. Where are you going now?”
“To look at the ponies.”
“Oh, they are all well. My Kaffir has seen to them.”
“But I suppose we are to sleep out there?” said Ingleborough.
“No,” said the Boer; “you can sleep there,” and he pointed to a rough-looking bed in one corner of the room. “My Kaffir sleeps with the horses. My vrouw and I sleep in the other room.”
“Then as soon as we can we should like to turn this dining-room into our bedroom,” said Ingleborough.
“But we’ll look at our ponies first.”
The Boer grunted and proceeded to refill his pipe, while the two young men went out and across to the rough shelter, where they found their ponies looking evidently the better for a good feed, and the Kaffir grinning and ready to pat their plumped-out figures, the ponies taking the touch of his hand as a friendly caress.