“Oh, it really doesn’t matter in the least!” came from one of the girls, as the match died out. “You don’t know how relieved, how grateful we are to you for not being a lion or a highwayman.”
The driver Piet had rummaged out a stump of candle, and lighted it. It flickered uncertainly on the capsized spider, on the scattered cushions and shawls, on the faces of the two young girls and their companion, and faintly lighted up the lank form and the dark bearded face of the enemy.
“I thought I knew your voice, Heron!” said the latter quietly.
“Nairn! By all that’s great and wonderful! What on earth were you—”
“Well, I wasn’t waylaying you with evil intent, and I do hope that the ladies—”
“Oh, I forgot. My sisters,” said Heron, with an explanatory wave. “Girls, this is Mr Nairn, a friend of mine. Very much in disguise, you must admit, Nairn!”
“Indeed I do. I confess, I repent, and I beg for mercy; and, to give practical proof of my sincerity, let me help you. Come on, Heron; let’s right the trap first.”
No damage had been done to the trap, and the three men soon succeeded in getting it on its wheels again. The boy drove through the donga and up the other bank without further difficulty, the others preferring to walk; but out there, when he had room to move round his team, the driver found that the off-leader had gashed his shoulder badly in the bush, and would have to be turned out.
Heron’s heart sank, for it would be a serious matter to attempt the four drifts of the Queen’s River in a heavy spider with only a pair. He looked at the overcast sky, and turned in despair to Nairn, who had remained with the ladies, and knew nothing of the injury to the horse.
“Nairn, you know the road best. Is there any place where we can stay the night? We can’t tackle the rivers. One of the leaders has cut his shoulder badly and won’t face the harness. We must put up somewhere for the night!”