The Kaffir made answer in the affirmative.
“Bah!” ejaculated Swartboy, jealous of the interest his rival was beginning to excite; “da’s all nonsense; ole fool know noffin ’t all ’bout it,—dat he don’t.”
The Kaffir still took no notice of Swartboy’s gibes—though they no doubt nettled him a little—but kept on casting the pebbles, each one, as already stated, being flung so as to fall several feet beyond the one that preceded it. He continued at this, until the last pebble was seen to plunge within a yard or two of the opposite side of the current, here more than a hundred yards wide. Then raising himself erect, and turning his face to the young yägers, he said in firm but respectful tones—
“Mynheeren, you drift may cross—now.”
All regarded him with incredulous glances.
“How deep think you it is?” inquired Hans. The Kaffir made answer by placing his hands upon his hips. It would reach so high.
“My footy!” exclaimed Swartboy, in derision. “It’s twice dar depth. Do you want drown us, ole fool?”
“May drown you—nobody else!” quietly replied the Kaffir, at the same time measuring Swartboy with his eye, and curling his lip in derision of the Bushman’s short stature.
The young yägers burst out into a loud laugh. Swartboy felt the sting, but for some moments was unable to retort.
At length he found words—