broken in upon by
Brian's voice. Brian has a brisk, healthy decisiveness about him when
carrying out any responsible matter, which seldom fails to secure
attention, wherefore now his reminder that it was time to start was
effectual in cutting my farewells rather short.

"Man, I wish I was going," said George grumpily, as he watched us mount.
"It's a beastly shame I can't."

Nobody took any notice of this, but Trask must needs sing out--

"So long, Miss Matterson. We'll bring back the spoil, never fear."

"Oh, great Caesar!" said Brian. "Why don't you blow a trumpet while
you're about it, Trask--or fire a few shots by way of letting the whole
countryside know we're on the move?"

Decidedly Brian was in a "commandeering" vein. But the reproof was
deserved.

Yes, it was exciting, that midnight going forth--exciting and enjoyable,
as we moved on through the gloom, now riding abreast and talking, though
in a low tone, as to the chances that lay before us, now falling into
single file as our way narrowed into a cattle track through the bush. A
brief off-saddle, then on again, and just as the first suspicion of dawn
appeared in the east we descended a steep rocky path into a river
valley. A Dutch farmhouse, rough of aspect, stood on an open space
beyond the drift, and hard by it a few tumble-down sheep kraals and two
or three native huts.

"That's all right," said Brian, having satisfied himself as to the
identity of three human figures engaged in converse in front of the
house. "Revell has been able to come. I was afraid Dumela wouldn't
find him at home."

We rode through the drift, which was very low at that time of year, and
as we dismounted I saw before me a swarthy Dutchman--who was the Stoffel
Pexter before alluded to; an Englishman, whose hair and beard simply
flamed at you, so fiery and red were both--this was Revell; the third, a
Kafir, being, in fact, old Dumela, our cattle herd.

"_Daag_, Matterson," began Pexter. "Are you on the spoor of your oxen?
One of my _zwaartgoed_ told me he'd seen them go through last night, so
they've got a good start. He says it isn't Kuliso's schepsels this
time--more likely Mpandhlile's."

"Likely. But let's have some coffee, Stoffel, for we've only half an
hour to off-saddle--not a minute more," returned Brian decisively.
"Awful good of you to turn out, Revell. Hardly expected to find you at
home."

"Man, that's nothing," said the other, whom I had met before,