As Fouché was supplicating for grace the other two went to fetch their horses. They were cordially received by the burghers outside. The Colonial in the meantime questioned Fouché as to the whereabouts of the Boers. The prisoner informed him that the notorious Commandant Fouché was again in that district. "Why," asked Fouché, "don't you capture this fellow with his raiding bands? They are the plague of the district. You should protect us." The Colonial: "Just a few days longer and he will be no more in the land of the living." At the same time he began to abuse him, without being conscious in the least that he was at the very moment speaking to that officer himself.
After some more talk he took Fouché by the arm and said, "Come along, we must be off; you are my prisoner." "What," rejoined the latter—"your prisoner! Don't you believe it. You are mine." So saying he took a revolver out of his pocket and pointed it at the over-confident Colonial, who thereupon looked several inches smaller.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, DUKE STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E., AND GREAT WINDMILL STREET, W.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Rev. Kestell, 'Through Shot and Flames.'