I thought Jan would be happy now the wicked had ceased from troubling, but the storm had its after-roll. He now expressed indignation that two shillings had been demanded. If such an iniquitous claim was made at all, one shilling was all that should be asked for.
They harried this point till the stranger asked Jan what odds it was to him—he did not pay the money.
"Don't I pay the money?" cried Jan. "Isn't it taken out of my very hand?"
"Oh, ja! But it comes out of the Baas' pocket."
"It comes out of my very hand," reiterated Jan, springing up; and fetching his whip, he gave three tremendous clacks with it, the signal to April, that could be heard a mile away in the still air, to bring back the oxen; and the baffled enemy picked up his lamb and retired from action.
Jan was jubilant, and cheerfully agreed to Mrs. Gilbert's suggestions as to the best camping-place for the night.
But I think his triumph was demoralising for him. As evening settled down and we were getting towards our resting-place, we passed by a rare thing—a long wooden fence; and we soon saw that Jan and April were freely helping themselves to the dry wood, and stowing it at the sides of the wagon to save themselves the trouble of collecting any later.
"Jan," called his mistress, "you must not steal that wood. The man it belongs to told the Baas he lost so much that he should put somebody to watch, and have any one who was caught taken before Mr. Huntly."
"April," shouted Jan, laughing, "look out for old Huntly. The Meeses says we must stop it."
Later, when we had outspanned for the night, and they had broiled our sausages, and made the coffee with chuckling anticipation of remainders, they made such a fire as scared Mrs. Gilbert, lest they should set the dry karoo around alight.