ordingly, in getting at the story of the attack.

Of course, each swore he was not the instigator; of course, each laid
the blame on the dead man, Muntiwa. He was the prime mover in the
enterprise. He had a grudge against the _Baas_ who lived there, and as
they all stood and fell together they had been obliged to help him in
his scheme of plunder. Of course, too, each and all were ready to swear
that plunder was their only object. They would not have harmed anybody,
not they; no, not for all the world. Thus the three half-breeds. But
Booi, the Kafir, volunteered no statement whatever, and Klaas Baartman,
the Bushman Hottentot, savagely declared that he had intended to cut the
throat of every woman and child on the place. The seventh of the gang,
who was still at large, having no firearm, had been posted under the
willows to draw off the dogs--even as Renshaw had conjectured.

Asked whether they knew the _Baas_ of the place was absent, they replied
that one of them had been watching and had seen unmistakable signs that
this was the case. The rest of the gang had watched the main road, and
when Renshaw had passed they had intended to let him go by unmolested,
so as to render more complete their projected surprise, and would have,
but for the indiscretion of one of their number--of course the man who
had not been captured.

In the morning, opportunely enough, a posse of Mounted Police arrived--a
sergeant and three troopers. They had been patrolling the mountains on
the lookout for this very gang, and had fallen in with some natives who
declared they had heard distant firing in the direction of Sunningdale.
Thither therefore they had ridden with all possible speed.

"Well, Mr Fanning--I wish I had had your luck--that's all," said the
sergeant--while doing soldier's justice to the succulent breakfast set
before them. "You've captured the whole gang, single-handed, all but
one, that is, and we are sure to have him soon."

"I wish you had, sergeant, if it would hurry on your sub-inspectorship,"
said Renshaw, heartily--"But I must take exception to your word
`single-handed,' I don't know what I should have done without Miss
Selwood."

Whereat the sergeant, who, like many another man serving in the Mounted
Police in those days, was a gentleman by birth, and who moreover had
been casting many an admiring glance at Marian, turned to the latter
with the most gracefully worded compliment he could muster. But, Marian