He could not see how Oscar had managed to secure so fine an outfit, while his own, for which he had paid an exorbitant price, was so very inferior.
"My cattle might have pulled the wagon over the hill," continued the colonel, "but just as we came to one of the steepest parts of it the trek-tow broke, and we wasted four mortal hours in taking it to the blacksmith's shop and having it repaired. To make a long story short, we did nothing yesterday but run between the wagon and the shop with that chain, for it was broken as often as we hitched it to the dissel-boom. By that time everything and everybody began to get discouraged. The loose cattle and horses strayed away, the oxen refused to pull, and the driver showed his temper by running the wagon into a hole in which the ground was so yielding that one of the wheels sank down to the hub. That happened late last night, and as we could go no further we camped there. When I awoke this morning my oxen and most of my horses were gone, and so were my men, all except my body-servant, whom I left to guard the wagon while I came back here to see if I can find anyone who is fool enough to buy me out. Oh, it's a beastly country, and I have seen enough of it!"
The colonel in his rage talked very loudly, and Oscar—who out of the corner of his eye kept watch of the men at the bar—saw that when he began to talk of selling out they smiled at one another and exchanged sly winks and nods. That was just what they intended he should do.
By this time Oscar's wagon was ready to start. The oxen were inspanned, the fore-loper stood at his post with the leading reins in his hands, the interpreter was seated on the fore-chest, and the driver, with his long whip over his shoulder, came to the window for orders.
"I say, Ferguson!" exclaimed Oscar as he threw up the sash.
"Hi, boas!" replied the grinning Hottentot.
"Go ahead as fast as you can. I will overtake you some time during the night, and when I find the wagon I want to find every man of you with it."
"All right, boas!" said the driver.
He climbed to his seat on the fore-chest, cracked his whip with a report like that of a pistol; the fore-loper moved off, and the ponderous vehicle rolled through the gate as easily as if it had been a toy-wagon.