imself, both were thinking the same thing.
To the mind of each came back the words of that morning: "_A sort of
instinct tells me it is the last day we shall have to ourselves for some
time to come_!" And it would be.

They sat down to supper. Tom Carhayes was in tremendous spirits that
evening. He breathed threatenings and slaughter against the whole of
the Xosa race, chuckling gleefully over the old scores he was going to
pay off upon it in the persons of its fighting men. In fact, he was as
delighted over the certainty of an outbreak as if he held half a dozen
fat contracts for the supply of the troops and levies.

"I'll keep a tally-stick, by Jove; and every nigger I pot I'll cut a
nick," he said. "There'll be a good few notches at the end of the war!
It was a first-class stroke of luck doing that deal with Reid, wasn't
it, Eustace? We shall have our hands entirely free for whatever fun
turns up."

Eustace agreed. He had reasons of his own for wanting to keep his hands
free during the next few months--possibly, however, they were of a
different nature to those entertained by his cousin.

"We can move the rest of the stock to Swaanepoel's Hoek," went on
Carhayes. "Bentley will be only too glad to look after it for a
consideration. Then for some real sport! Eustace, pass the grog to
Hoste."

"That your Somerset East farm?" said the latter, filling his glass.

"Yes. Not a bad place, either; only too stony."

"You're a jolly lucky fellow to have a Somerset East farm to send your
stock to," rejoined Hoste. "I wish I had, I know. The few sheep I have
left are hardly worth looking after. There are safe to be a lot of
Dutchmen in _laager_ with _brandt-zick_ flocks, and ours will be covered
with it by the time it's all over. Same thing with cattle. Red water
and lung sickness will clear them all out too."

"Well, we'll lift a lot from old Kreli to make up for it," said
Carhayes. "By the way, Eustace. Talking of Kreli--he's been summoned
to meet the Governor and won't go."

"H'm. Small wonder if he won't. What was the upshot of his father,
Hintza, being summoned to meet the Governor?"

"Oh, you're always harping on that old string," said Carhayes
impatiently. "Hang it all--as if a lot of red-blanket niggers are to be
treated like civilised beings! It's ridiculous, man. They've got to do
as they are told, or they must be made to."

"That's all very pretty, Tom. But the `making' hasn't begun