"I thought you had always been a soldier, for you look so like one," answered Jack; and Morton felt a trifle elated, for what man or boy exists who does not inwardly relish a small modicum of flattery?
"You have nothing in the shape of diamonds, I suppose, in this part of the country?" queried the trooper. "I have examined the clay in several dongas as we came along, and from what I know of mineralogy, I should say that diamonds are to be found in this district."
"Crystals are common enough about here," answered Jack. "I have a collection which I will show you when we reach the farm. Among the pebbles are several fine garnets and amethysts. One of our 'boys,' Pete by name, picked up a stone, which he found embedded in a sort of bluish clay only a fortnight ago. It is too dull, however, for a diamond."
During the few minutes occupied in the return to the farm, Morton thought deeply about what Jack had told him. He was a thorough patriot, but since he had been in South Africa his mind had dwelt largely on diamonds, for exaggerated accounts of the mineral resources of the veldt had reached New Zealand.
Mr. Lovat was a thoughtful man, and since the beginning of the war had laid up big supplies of eatables in the shape of hams, bacon, preserved meats, and tins of jam and marmalade.
It seemed as though the Kopje Farm had been designedly prepared for a siege, for in the big storeroom at the back of the house were provisions calculated by Mr. Lovat to last at least twelve months, and these were being added to.
The major determined to allow his men a few hours' rest, and the horses were off-saddled and given a good feed of corn, Jack Lovat paying particular attention to Morton's mare, which was a magnificent creature nearly seventeen hands high, and noted for its swiftness and sureness of foot.
Jack conducted his newly-made friend round the ostrich kraal, and explained the various operations connected with the hatching of eggs and the plucking of the birds' plumage, and the trooper evinced great interest in the young settler's narration.
The remains of poor Zacchary, the "boy" who was shot at the loophole, had been reverently interred, and Jack and his friend were standing alone beside the mound of freshly turned earth, when the latter observed, "Oh, by the way, Jack, I would very much like to have a look at that stone you spoke to me about."
"You mean the pebble Pete gave to me?" asked Jack.