he place;" and, without waiting to give any further explanations,
he slipped through the house and hid himself up somewhere out of the way
at the back, for Jantje, like most Hottentots, was a sad coward.

The old man stopped rubbing his head and stared at Bessie, who stood
pale and trembling in the doorway. Just then he heard the patter of
running feet on the drive outside, and looked out of the window. It was
caused by the passing of some half-dozen Kafirs who were working on the
place, and who, on catching sight of the Boers, had promptly thrown down
their tools and were flying to the hills. Even as they passed a shot was
fired somewhere from the direction of the avenue, and the last of the
Kafirs, a lad of about twelve, suddenly threw up his hands and pitched
forward on to his face, with a bullet between his shoulder-blades.

Bessie heard the shout of "Good shot, good shot!" the brutal laughter
that greeted his fall, and the tramping of the horses as they came up
the drive.

"Oh, uncle!" she said, "what shall we do?"

The old man made no answer at the moment, but going to a rack upon the
wall, he reached down a Wesley-Richards falling-block rifle that hung
there. Then he sat down in a wooden armchair that faced the French
window opening on to the verandah, and beckoned to her to come to him.

"We will meet them so," he said. "They shall see that we are not afraid
of them. Don't be frightened, dear, they will not dare to harm us; they
will be afraid of the consequences of harming English people."

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the cavalcade began to
appear in front of the window, led, as Jantje had said, by Frank Muller
on his black horse, accompanied by Hans Coetzee on the fat pony, and the
villainous-looking Hendrik, mounted on a nondescript sort of animal, and
carrying a gun and an assegai in his hand. Behind these were a body of
about fifteen or sixteen armed men, among whom Silas Croft recognised
most of his neighbours, by whose side he had lived for years in peace
and amity.

Opposite the house they stopped and began looking about. They could not
see into the room at once, on account of the bright light outside and
the shadow within.

"I fancy you will find the birds flown, nephew," said the fat voice of
Hans Coetzee. "They have got warning of your little visit."

"They cannot be far off," answered Muller. "I have had them watched, and
know that they have not left the place. Get down, un