on mile over more or less rough ground,
every rise surmounted revealing another beyond it, every step covering
the possibility of stumbling upon a concealed enemy. Sometimes, too, he
would be obliged to deviate a long way from his course, to avoid a deep
and bushy kloof, whose vegetation was so dense as to be practically
impenetrable. Staggering now with weariness, he was about to sink down
to sleep away the remainder of the night, when his gaze lit upon that
which banished sleep from him for the moment.

The ground was open there; smooth, and gently undulating. In front,
standing in the middle of the flat, was a house.

Was this a delusion? He rubbed his eyes. There, in the faint light of
the now setting moon, stood the house, a substantial-looking farm
homestead. It was no delusion. Visions of a snug bed, and an
inexpressibly welcome sleep, beset the weary wayfarer; of a remount, and
a speedy arrival at Doppersdorp--_via_ Suffield's farm. Eagerly,
joyfully, his step regained its elasticity, as he advanced to knock up
the sleeping inmates, who, English or Dutch, would certainly receive him
with the customary hospitality.

But as he drew near, again his heart sank like lead. No barking of dogs
greeted his footsteps. The kraals were empty and the gates open, the
shatters of the windows were up. The house was deserted.

"Of course!" he mattered despondently. "The cursed place is empty.
Perhaps there's somebody left in charge, though."

But even as he approached the door he realised that there was that
indescribable something about the place which told that no human being
was there, a kind of lifelessness that might be felt. He knocked, but
only a hollow echo from the empty passage gave mocking and ghostly
response.

"Oh, curse the luck of it all!" he growled. "Hang me if I don't break
in. They'll have left a shakedown of a sort anyhow, and I'll do a snug
snooze; besides, one may chance to stumble upon a bottle of grog stowed
away."

He looked around. Close by, a black square mass, indistinct in the
waning moon, lay the deserted sheep-kraals. But now he noticed what had
escaped him before. Behind the house, perhaps fifty yards distant from
it, was an enclosed fruit garden, and the trees seemed weighed down with
their luscious loads. Ah! the very thing. In his parched and exhausted
condition, what would go down better than a dozen or so of peaches or
apricots? So, postponing his exploration of t