om and trek tow of a long covered-in wagon
began to trudge slowly along over the rough track which led to the main
road leading south. A second man led the way, while the Kaffir with the
light swung himself up onto the great box in front of the wagon and drew
out an unusually long whip, after hanging his horn lantern to a hook in
the middle of the arched tilt over his head.

"Baas come alon' heah?" said the man.

"No, go on, and I'll walk behind for a bit," said Anson, in a low tone
of voice. "Go on quietly, and keep off the track. Go straight away
till I tell you to turn off."

The Kaffir grunted, and the oxen plodded on at their slow
two-mile-an-hour rate, leaving the last sign of occupation far behind,
Anson twice over giving instructions to the man who was leading which
way to steer, the result being that the creaking wagon was driven right
away south and west over the open veldt, avoiding the various farms and
places till Kimberley was left far behind.

It was a bright starlit night, and the long procession of big bullocks
looked weird and strange in the gloom, for at times they seemed to be
drawing nothing, so closely did the tilt of the great lightly-loaded
wagon assimilate with the drab dusty tint of the parched earth and the
dusky-coloured scrub which the great wheels crushed down.

The driver sat on the box with his huge whip, his shoulders well up and
his head down, driving mechanically, and seeming to be asleep, while the
voorlooper kept pace with the leading oxen, and hour after hour passed
away without a word being spoken.

So the night wore on, the only watchful eyes being those of Anson, who
kept on straining them forward right and left, while his ears twitched
as he listened for the sounds which he knew would be uttered by a Boer
vedette.

But no challenge came, and the fugitive breathed more freely as the
stars paled, a long, low, sickly streak began to spread in the east, and
the distance of the wide-spreading desolate veldt grew more clear.

"I knew they wouldn't be on the look-out," said Anson to himself, in an
exulting fashion. "Hah! I'm all right, and I wonder how West and Ingle
have got on."

It was growing broad daylight when the thoughtful-looking ex-clerk
climbed up to the side of the driver.

"How far to the fontein?" he said.

"One hour, baas," was the reply.

"Is there plenty of grass?"

"Plenty, baas. Bullock much eat and drink."

The information proved quite correc