“I think it was two,” he said. He did not like to confess to his comrade that he could not read. “No, I am sure that it was two.”
“Perhaps we had better send up to Oom Krüger and ask?” suggested the first man.
“Oom Krüger will be in bed, and he puts up his quills like a porcupine if one wakes him,” was the answer.
“Then let us keep the damned preaching Englishman till to-morrow.”
“Pray let me go on, gentlemen,” said John, still in his mildest voice. “I am wanted to preach the Word at Pretoria, and to watch by the wounded and dying.”
“Yes, yes,” said the first man, “there will soon be plenty of wounded and dying there. They will all be like the rooibaatjes at Bronker’s Spruit. Lord, what a sight that was! But they will get the Bishop, so they won’t want you. You can stop and look after our wounded if the rooibaatjes manage to hit any of us.” And he beckoned to him to come out of the cart.
“Hullo!” said the other man, “here is a bag of mealies. We will commandeer that, anyhow.” And he took his knife and cut the line with which the sack was fastened to the back of the cart, so that it fell to the ground. “That will feed our horses for a week,” he said with a chuckle, in which the other man joined. It was pleasant to become so easily possessed of an unearned increment in the shape of a bag of mealies.
“Well, are we to let the old crow go?” said the first man.
“If we don’t let him go we shall have to take him up to headquarters, and I want to sleep.” And he yawned.
“Well, let him go,” said the other. “I think you are right. The pass said two carts. Be off, you damned preaching Englishman!”