“Brought us some provender?” continued Dickenson; and he received another nod.
“What have you got?”
The Boer wagged his head sidewise towards the wagons and herds, and went on smoking.
“Well done; that’s better than trying to pot us. But, I say, what about your commando fellows? What will they say when you go back?”
The Boer took his pipe out of his mouth and stuffed a finger into the bowl to thrust down the loose tobacco.
“Nothing,” he said shortly. “Not going back.”
“What!” cried Lennox, joining in after pretty well satisfying himself that there could be no danger in the unarmed Boers and their wagons.
“What’s what?” said the Boer sourly.
“You’re not going back?” cried Dickenson, staring.
“Well, we can’t go back, of course. If we tried they’d shoot us, wouldn’t they?”