Then a bearded man of immense stature stepped into the cave and approached Morton, who with a pallid face was leaning against a boulder of rock.
The Boer addressed Morton in good English. "To what regiment do you belong, rooinek?" he demanded.
"That is my business," answered the scout haughtily. "I decline to answer."
"Where are your fellows?" asked the Boer, without displaying any sign of temper.
"I decline to give you any information whatever," replied Morton.
"A sjambok may elicit what I desire to know," said the Boer grimly. "You are speaking now to Christian Uys. You have heard of me, I suppose?"
"Oh yes, I have," answered the scout. "We have been trying for some time to locate you."
"Pray be careful in what you say," said Uys. "You are not an Englishman?"
"I am not," said Morton, "but I fight under the British flag."
"You belong to the New Zealand corps called Rangers," said Uys in a peculiar tone of voice. "You see we burghers can beat your boasted Intelligence Department. Bah! the British Government with their hundreds of thousands of rooibaatjes cannot beat a few simple farmers;" and Uys gave vent to a loud laugh.