Nathan looked at Koos with such an amount of sinister meaning that the miserable Boer was filled with a vague sense of fresh dismay. Nathan continued—
“Look here, old man, I’ll tell you what we’ll do: we’ll just drive down to your place to-morrow—across the dunes, you know—then we’ll pick out the cattle and arrange about how you will send them down.”
“But how can we cross the dunes? Your mules will never pull the cart through?”
“Quite right, old man; and that’s why you are to drive me down in your own trap. You told me that you crossed the dunes as you came up, so you might as well go back the same way. See?”
“But how are you to get back here if you do not take your own cart?”
Nathan dug Koos playfully in the ribs, and then linked his skinny arm with the Boer’s large limb.
“Well, how stupid of me not to have thought of that. Let’s see—how can I get back, eh? Oh, I’ve just thought of a splendid plan: you’ll drive me back too.”
Koos gave a sidelong glance of such bitter hatred at the stunted figure at his side that, had Nathan seen it, he surely would have recognised the danger of the course he was pursuing. But Nathan supposed that the giant was quite cowed, that this Samson was completely shorn of his locks. In his preoccupation he forgot about the Pillars of Gaza.
His thoughts were far away. He was evolving complicated schemes, planning vast undertakings, which he meant to effect by means of this rough instrument, whose strength might be guided by his puny hand. He had reasoned it out—his theory as to the proper management of this tamed monster, and had come to the conclusion that curb, whip, and spur should be used upon him unsparingly, until he was thoroughly broken to harness.
Koos did not speak for a while. Then he said in a strained voice—