“Brothers! we’re in a bad way now; it couldn’t well be worse.”
“Ya—ya, that is true,” responded the others in a breath, Blom adding—
“Nach Mynheer Jan, it couldn’t possibly be worse.”
“Then what ought we to do, think you?”
To which merely formal question Van Dorn received no answer, the other two tacitly puffing away at their pipes in expectation that he would tell them. Accustomed to this sort of deference the old jäger no longer held back, but proceeded to unburden himself, saying—
“Well, brothers; the first thing we must do is to look out for our lives—our very lives. And it’s the only thing we can do now. To keep on to the place we were making for, even though sure of reaching it, wouldn’t help us a bit. Without our cattle we’d be no better off there than here; and now that our horses and dogs are gone too, there’s but small chance for us subsisting by the chase. Once our ammunition gave out, we’d be just as Bosjesmen, have to live on roots and reptiles. That’s not the life for a Vee-Boer, nor the diet either.”
“Gott der himmel, no!” was the deprecatory exclamation of Blom, sent forth between two puffs of smoke.
“So,” continued Van Dorn, “I see no hope for us but return to the Transvaal.”
“Neither I. Nor I,” assented the associate baases, Rynwald adding interrogatively—