Heavily loaded as it was, it seemed to offer no impediment to the free movements of the powerful span that drew it.
Oscar had rechristened all his native servants—the names to which they generally answered being hard to pronounce and harder still to bear in mind.
To his driver he gave the name of Ferguson. His fore-loper—another little dried-up Hottentot—he called Johnson; and his interpreter, a gigantic Kaffir—who in size, if not in appearance, reminded him of his old plains guide—he dubbed Big Thompson.
This created an amusing jumble at first, for the men could not remember their new names; but they had grown accustomed to them at last and answered to them readily.
"You had better stop that wagon before it goes any further," said the colonel. "You don't know what is before you."
"And I don't much care," replied Oscar. "Others have gone through, and so can I."
The colonel stared at him in surprise, and in order to obtain a better view of Oscar's face he brought his eyeglass into use. He had never dreamed that this quiet, modest boy, who during the long voyage from London docks to Port Natal had kept almost entirely to himself, could possess so much determination. He was inclined to be angry over it, too.
"Aw!" said he in a tone of disgust; "whatever may be your other failings, young man, you certainly are not wanting in self-conceit. You have a most exalted opinion of yourself. I suppose you think you can eclipse the achievements of such small fry as Cumming, Baldwin, and Gilmore! I never heard of such impudence!"
"I don't expect to eclipse anybody. I simply mean to say that what has been done can be done again," replied Oscar with more spirit than the colonel had ever before seen him exhibit.