"I see him, Thompson," said Oscar at length. "He is hiding behind that second wagon from the left, and he has got my horse and gun with him. We'll soon have him out of that. I don't know whether we will or not," he added to himself. "If I had white men to deal with I should have no fears of the result; but these wooden-headed Dutchmen have no more sense than the cattle they drive, and it is hard to tell how they will act."
Nothing daunted by the preparations that had been made to receive him, Oscar rode straight on toward the Boers, and when the patriarch made a sign for him to halt he paid no sort of attention to it. The least show of timidity or irresolution would have been fatal to him. He had come there with plans of his own fully developed, and he intended to let the Dutchmen see that he had the pluck to carry them out.
He kept on until he had come within ten feet of the Boers, who held their cocked muskets in their hands, all ready to shoot, and then he drew up his horse.
"Thompson," said he, "tell these men that they are harboring a thief—that my cook has stolen a horse, saddle, bridle, and rifle from me, and that I have come here to get them. Tell them that I don't care for the thief himself—he isn't worth his grub, and they can have him if they want him—but I want my property, and, what's more, I'm bound to have it."
"Let's see you get it!" shouted McCann from his hiding-place behind the wagon.
Oscar's face grew a shade paler as these words of defiance fell upon his ears, but he made no reply. He had come there to act, and not to argue with McCann.
The Kaffir, however, was full of talk, and, not receiving a satisfactory reply to his translation, he proceeded to abuse the Dutchmen without stint.
The latter replied in angry tones, shaking their fists and flourishing their muskets in the air; and for a moment or two things looked as though there was going to be a fight.
"What do they say, Thompson?" asked Oscar.