“Yes, please do that,” muttered Hans, “else I know one who will be shot.”
“Good, I will go,” said the vrouw, and she went, the guards letting her pass after a few words which we could not hear.
Half an hour later she returned and called to us to open the door.
“Well?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, “I have failed, nephew. Except those sentries outside the door, the commandant and all the Boers have ridden off, I know not where, taking our people with them.”
“That’s odd,” I answered, “but I suppose they thought they had not enough grass for their horses, or Heaven knows what they thought. Stay now, I will do something,” and, opening the door, I called to the guards, honest fellows in their way, whom I had known in past times.
“Listen, friends,” I said. “A tale has been brought to me that I am not to be taken to the big camp to have my case inquired of by the council, but am to be shot down in cold blood when I come out of this house to-morrow morning. Is that true?”
“Allemachte, Englishman!” answered one of them. “Do you take us for murderers? Our orders are to lead you to the commandant wherever he may appoint, so have no fear that we shall shoot you like a Kaffir. Either you or they who told you such a story are mad.”
“So I thought, friends,” I answered. “But where is the commandant and where are the others? The Vrouw Prinsloo here has been to see them, and reports that they are all gone.”
“That is very likely,” said the Boer. “There is a rumour that some of your Zulu brothers have come across the Tugela again to hunt us, which, if you want to know the truth, is why we visited this place. Well, the commandant has taken his men for a ride to see if he can meet them by this bright moonlight. Pity he could not take you, too, since you would have known so well where to find them, if they are there at all. Now please talk no more nonsense to us, which it makes us sick to hear, and don’t think that you can slip away because we are only two, for you know our roers are loaded with slugs, and we have orders to use them.”