These implements were soon brought and placed upon the table. Uncle Diederick took the corkscrew and approached the sufferer.
“Come, Aunt—give me the bottle and I will open it for you.”
“But, Uncle,—I do not like to open the bottle whilst on the road. It is so liable to spill.”
Uncle Diederick returned to his chair, the inscrutability of his visage somewhat modified by a palpable wink. Aunt Emerencia, after a few supplementary groans, stated that she felt a little better and would defer taking a dose until another bad attack came on. Then she took her ponderous course back to her wagon.
The sun was nearly down when the clattering hoofs of a galloping horse was heard on the road. A few minutes afterwards Gert Dragoonder dismounted, and, without waiting to remove the saddle from his smoking horse, hastened to the door of the “hartebeeste house.”
“Well, schepsel,” said Uncle Diederick, “it is easy to see that you have been riding your master’s horse. For how far has the Devil been chasing you?”
“Baas must hasten,” replied the Hottentot, breathlessly, “or it will be too late. My master has got a bullet in the shoulder and he has bled plenty.”
“A bullet in the shoulder—that’s bad. What an accident! Let’s see,—to which of the loving brothers do you belong?”
“Baas Gideon is my baas. But it was not an accident; baas Stephanus shot my baas with his own gun.”
Uncle Diederick gave a long, low whistle. “Well, I always said it would come to murder between those two. Here, Danster,—saddle up my horse. Is the bone broken?”