h them without a word. Through her crack in the wall Bessie
watched him go till the dear old head with its fringe of white hairs
and the bent frame were no more visible. Then at last, benumbed and
exhausted by the horrors she was passing through, her faculties failed
her, and she fell forward in a faint there upon the sacks.

Meanwhile Muller was writing the death-warrant on a sheet of his
pocket-book. At the foot he left a space for his own signature, but for
reasons of his own he did not sign. What he did do was to pass the book
round to be countersigned by all who had formed the court in this mock
trial, his object being to implicate every one there present in the
judicial murder by the direct and incontrovertible evidence of his
sign-manual. Now, Boers are simple pastoral folk, but they are not quite
so simple as to be deceived by a move like this, and hereon followed a
very instructive little scene. To a man they had been willing enough to
give their verdict for the execution of Silas, but they were by no means
prepared to record it in black and white. As soon as they understood
the object of their feared and respected commandant, a general desire
manifested itself to make themselves individually and collectively
scarce. Suddenly they found that they had business outside, to which
each and all of them must attend. Already they had escaped from their
extemporised jury-box, and, headed by the redoubtable Hans, were
approaching the entrance to the waggon-house, when Frank Muller
perceived their design, and roared in a voice of thunder:

"Stop! Not a man leaves this place till the warrant is signed."

Instantly they halted, and began to look innocent and converse.

"Hans Coetzee, come here and sign," said Muller again, whereon that
unfortunate advanced with as good a grace as he could muster, murmuring
to himself curses, not loud but deep, upon the head of "that devil of a
man, Frank Muller."

However, there was no help for it, so, with a sickly smile, he put his
name to the fatal document in big and shaky letters. Then Muller
called another man, who instantly tried to shirk on the ground that his
education had been neglected, and that he could not write, an excuse
which availed him little, for Frank Muller quietly wrote his name for
him, leaving a space for his mark. After this there was no more trouble,
and in five minutes the back of the warrant was covered with the
sprawling signatures of the various members of