“Ach! and so had he, too, until he remembered his own skin, and went off with the only horse and all the powder, leaving her and the rest of us to starve. Well, you won’t go, and Prinsloo won’t go, nor my boy either, for I’ll see to that; so Meyer must go.”
“Nein, nein, good vrouw,” answered Meyer, “I have those children that are left to me to consider.”
“Then,” exclaimed Vrouw Prinsloo triumphantly, “nobody will go, so let us forget this stinkcat, as he forgot us.”
“Does it seem right,” asked Marais again, “that a Christian man should be left to starve in the wilderness?” and he looked at me.
“Tell me, Heer Marais,” I remarked, answering the look, “why should I of all people go to look for the Heer Pereira, one who has not dealt too well with me?”
“I do not know, Allan. Yet the Book tells us to turn the other cheek and to forget injuries. Still, it is for you to judge, remembering that we must answer for all things at the last day, and not for me. I only know that were I your age and not burdened with a daughter to watch over, I should go.”
“Why should you talk to me thus?” I asked with indignation. “Why do you not go yourself, seeing that I am quite ready to look after Marie?” (Here the Vrouw Prinsloo and the other Boers tittered.) “And why do you not address your remarks to these other heeren instead of to me, seeing that they are the friends and trek-companions of your nephew?”
At this point the male Prinsloos and Meyer found that they had business elsewhere.
“It is for you to judge, yet remember, Allan, that it is an awful thing to appear before our Maker with the blood of a fellow creature upon our hands. But if you and these other hard-hearted men will not go, I at my age, and weak as I am with all that I have suffered, will go myself.”
“Good,” said Vrouw Prinsloo; “that is the best way out of it. You will soon get sick of the journey, Heer Marais, and we shall see no more of the stinkcat.”