perhaps, twenty shillings or more--and got clear away with them to the
canteen, where they can always sell stolen goods.

"But that is not what I was going to tell you," continued Bonny. "It
was about two Kafir thieves who were going round the country stealing.
They came to our place one evening, and, in the course of their
depredations, happened to cross one of the fields where a pair of our
ostriches had a nest. The cock had not yet commenced his night duty on
the nest. He caught sight of the two Kafirs, and was down on them
instantly like lightning. They took refuge in a mimosa-thorn, and there
he kept them all night. It was no use their trying to make a bolt for
it, because twice or three times their speed could not have saved them
from the ostrich. There they remained, and there father found them next
morning, when he rode out to feed the birds."

The sturdy sons of this Karroo farmer had no light duty to perform each
day. The farm was twenty miles in length, and of variable breadth.
There were no crops raised on it, save the fruit of the splendid garden
already mentioned, some grapes, and a few mealies. The sources of gain
were ostriches and their feathers, Angora goat hair, (mohair), horses,
sheep-wool, and cattle, looking after which kept father and sons pretty
constantly in the saddle. It was a dashing style of life, requiring
robust health and spirits. I have seen one or both of the boys return
of an evening--after having been up at five or six, and out all day,--
scarce able to decide whether to eat or sleep! Counting and guarding
the flocks formed a part of the duty.

One evening the report was brought that a horse and thirteen bucks had
disappeared. The Kafir thief had driven them off in the direction of
Somerset. There he had been questioned closely as to where he came
from, etcetera. His replies not being satisfactory, the animals were
seized and put in the pound, whence they were afterwards reclaimed,
while the thief escaped being put in the "tronk," or jail, by a sudden
dart into the jungle of the Boschberg!

My friend and I were soon on the road which led to the farm of his
brother Jonathan. It stood about two miles distant. On our way we had
to pass one corner of the private domain of Black Jack, or David Marais,
I forget which--I think it was the former. He was there ready for us,
and evidently in a rage at the mere possibility of our intrusion, for
the wings were going like flail