They discussed many other points connected with the trek, concerning all of which the little Bushman gave them copious information. Suddenly, as he glanced down the sandy street, his countenance changed; he trembled; fear unmistakably seized him.
"Baas," he said, in a hoarse voice, "there comes Karl Engelbrecht; I am afraid!"
"Who is Karl Engelbrecht?" asked Guy; "and why are you afraid?"
"He is the Trek Boer in whose service I used to be," returned the Bushman. "He beat me often with his sjambok, and treated me cruelly; and so I ran away. But I fear him still. He is a bad man--schelm!"
"You need have no fear, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney; "I will look after you. Put on a bold face, and stick to me; I'll see that your friend Engelbrecht plays no tricks upon you. Remember that you are in my service, and that we are in Portuguese and not Boer country."
They watched the two tall figures, on which Poeskop's eyes were fastened, coming up the street. The Bushman whispered that Karl Engelbrecht was the bigger of the two--the man on the right. The Boers--for they were manifestly both Dutchmen--were now close to the hotel. Karl Engelbrecht, of whom Poeskop stood in so much terror, was a typical Boer of Boers--a big, heavy, slouching fellow, six feet in height, powerfully made, very strong, but slack and loose-limbed. He wore the usual Boer clothing--short jacket and loose trousers of moleskin, a flannel shirt, velschoens (field-shoes) of untanned hide, and a big slouch-hat, ornamented with a single short black-and-white ostrich plume. His long hay-coloured hair ran over his ears and partly covered his neck, and he wore a huge untrimmed beard and moustache of the same dull hue. His hard, pale blue eyes were set deep above broad, sunburnt, fleshy cheeks. It was an unpleasant face; something in the lowering brows, the hard, furtive eyes, gave the beholder instantly an unpleasant impression; and about the man's whole demeanour there was an undefinable yet unmistakable air of menace and brutality. The Dutchman accompanying him was of a much milder and less aggressive type--a big, dark-bearded, slouching fellow, of dull and heavy countenance, with nothing much to differentiate him from scores of his fellows of the Transvaal, Orange Free State, and Cape Colony.
As Karl Engelbrecht strode up to the hotel, his eyes suddenly fell upon Poeskop. He started, frowned evilly, glowered at the three white men standing near, and then, taking a step or two forward, seized the Bushman by the collar of his jacket.
"So, my fine fellow, I have caught you, have I?" he said, in a deep guttural and manifestly angry voice. As he spoke, he cuffed the unfortunate Bushman heavily on the head with his huge hand.
Mr. Blakeney was a strong and determined man, and in no mood to stand by and see his servant knocked about. His blood rose instantly at the insolent aggression of this bully.
"Let the man alone!" he said angrily in Dutch, snatching Poeskop away so suddenly and with such force that he freed him from the Boer's grip. "He is my servant!"