"All right, sorr," answered Pat; "I understand. But mind you, don't go and get captured again, sorr."
Jack laughed, and linking his arm within the New Zealander's, the two friends began climbing the kopje in the direction of Diamond Valley.
Both were well armed, Jack having a Lee-Enfield rifle, while Morton carried a Mauser, with the use of which he was well acquainted. The Mauser formed part of the spoil taken in the previous day's fight.
"If we can find poor Pete's body, we'll bury him decently," said Jack. "He was a good and faithful servant of my father's."
"I'm afraid there will scarcely be any necessity for that," observed Morton. "The aasvogels, I am afraid, will have been at work."
The summit of the kopje was soon reached, and presently Jack and his companion were overlooking the immense depression known as the Diamond Valley.
Jack led the way straight to where the Kaffir Pete had been killed, and to his great satisfaction found that the poor black's body had been left untouched by the loathsome birds of prey, although several of them could be seen hovering in the air at some distance away.
Our hero insisted upon Pete having a decent temporary interment, and a hollow was soon found, in which the "boy" was placed, and covered with stones and earth.
"Now, Jack, my boy, we must make tracks for the diamonds," said Morton, after the burying operations were completed. "Hullo!" he added. "Look out, Jack!"
The New Zealander, one of the coolest Irregulars serving in the campaign, was speaking in an excited tone of voice.
Jack Lovat turned his head in surprise. Not more than a yard from him, a huge black snake, with uplifted head and ominous-looking poison fangs, was preparing to hurl itself on the young settler.
In a moment Jack took in the situation, and sprang aside. A rifle report rang out, and the loathsome reptile fell at Jack's feet, an inert mass of dead matter. A bullet from Sergeant Morton's rifle had shattered the snake's head.
"A near squeak that, Jack," said Morton, with a laugh. "They tell me that a bite from one of these snakes means almost instant death."
"I'm jolly glad, Sergeant, you warned me, and better still, hit the brute. I'm awfully obliged to you."
"Don't mention it, Jack. And now for that little blue reef!" responded the sergeant. "I trust we shall be able to find it."
"I think I can locate it," said Jack; "it is somewhere down here."
"Right you are, Jack," observed Morton. "The side of the donga rose almost perpendicularly, I remember. A band of blue clay runs horizontally along the gneiss. Why, here we are. This is the very place where the nigger said he found the pebble you showed me. I've come prepared this time, Jack;" and the sergeant drew a formidable-looking bill-hook from his belt.
"I've gone one better than that," said Jack, with a smile, as he took a small pickaxe from his pocket and placed it in a shaft which he had brought from the farm.
"The very thing, Jack!" cried Morton. "Why, you're a trump!"
"Living on the veldt makes you sharp," said Jack drily.
Morton took the pickaxe and began hewing at the band of blue clay.
"No, leave it alone, Jack," said the sergeant, as Jack stooped to pick up the clay. "I may hit you, and that would be a very bad ending to what I consider a promising career."
"All right, Sergeant," responded Jack cheerfully. "Then I'll stand by and see you do the hard work, while I share the profits."
For a few moments, Sergeant Morton applied the pickaxe vigorously, then a ringing sound followed the blows.
"A selvage pocket!" muttered the New Zealander, as he scooped out the remnants of clay. "Hard luck, Jack, the worst of bad luck. The pocket has given out. It can't be helped. And now let us examine our spoil."
With trembling fingers, it must be confessed, Sergeant Morton proceeded to examine the blue clay he had dislodged, while Jack with a big clasp knife followed suit.
An exclamation burst from the New Zealander.
"Jack!" he cried excitedly, "we are both made men!" and he showed to our hero a substance rather larger than a walnut.
"This is a klip, Jack; one of the finest South Africa has yet produced. I must rest a while; I'm too excited to do any more;" and the cool-headed New Zealander, the man who had been in a hundred fights without showing the slightest trace of fear, sat down, and with great difficulty restrained himself from shedding tears.
Poverty and its attendant struggles would be a thing of the past, and, in his Antipodean home, the war-worn Ranger would be able to share in the luxuries and happiness which wealth, if judiciously used, can bestow on its fortunate recipients.
Several additional diamonds of large size were found by Morton and Jack in the blue clay dislodged from the selvage pocket. These were carefully gathered, and the two friends were on the point of returning to the Kopje Farm, when they saw a figure silhouetted against the skyline.
"I fancy it is Pat," said Jack. "I wonder what news he brings. I trust Colonel Malcolmson has captured the commando."
"I hope such may be the case," observed the New Zealander. "However, let us move forward as rapidly as we can, and ascertain what is the matter."
The new-comer proved to be Pat, and the worthy Irishman seemed to be somewhat flurried.
"I've come as ye tould me, sorr," said Pat, as the two friends came up.
"Any news?" inquired Jack.
"The best av news, sorr," answered Pat. "It would take more than half a dozen commandos to take the Kopje Farm now."
"What do you mean, Pat? I don't quite understand."
"I mane that a rigimint av English Lancers is now at the farmstead, and some av the Rangers are expected soon. There has been a big fight close to Springbokfontein, and the Boers have been badly licked by our men, and the burgher they call Uys has been captured wid all his baggage. You are going home now, sorr, I suppose?"
"That is so, Pat," answered Jack; and we may rest assured that the distance between the summit of the kopje and the farm was covered in record time.
Pat's information proved correct; for three squadrons of British Lancers were temporarily resting at Mr. Lovat's ostrich farm.
Jack was greatly impressed by the appearance of the Lancers. Most of the soldiers were young men, but all looked fit and hardy. Theirs had been a rough life for many months, trekking up and down the colony in search of rebel bands.
Major Lambton, who commanded the Lancers, proved an affable gentleman, and received Jack with the greatest courtesy. Sergeant Morton half expected a wigging for being absent from his post, but escaped the infliction.
A couple of despatch riders had ridden over from Springbokfontein, conveying the news of the Boers' defeat, and also a command that the prisoners captured at the Kopje Farm should be hurried down to the town at the earliest moment. Half a dozen troopers were to be left at the farm, if Mr. Lovat so desired.
Major Lambton decided to leave a half troop of his Lancers with the ostrich farmer, while with the remainder of his command he intended to join Colonel Malcolmson.
Jack obtained permission from his father, although it was not readily accorded, to proceed with Sergeant Morton to Springbokfontein. Our hero felt sorry for Piet Van Donnop and his comrades, who appeared very dejected. The journey, too, had to be performed on foot over a rough country.
The wounded Boers were left in the ostrich kraal, until arrangements for them to be conveyed to Springbokfontein could be completed.
It was late in the afternoon when Jack and Morton arrived at the town. A big fight had taken place in the early morning between the Rangers and the now concentrated commando of the redoubtable Christian Uys.
It had proved a stubborn encounter; but the Rangers, under the brilliant leadership of Colonel Malcolmson, forced the fighting, and after much slaughter on both sides, the Boers ran up the white flag, and the action ceased.
Christian Uys, Veldt-cornet Steyn, and several officers were taken prisoners, and lodged in the Town Hall at Springbokfontein. It was evident that the Boers had sympathisers in the town, for many scowling looks were bestowed on the Lancers and the Rangers, escorting the prisoners captured at the Kopje Farm.
To Jack's great delight, he found that the British wounded had arrived from Langeman's Nek, and although Major Salkeld was severely wounded, the doctor had great hopes of his complete recovery.
Jack Lovat had an object in visiting Springbokfontein, and soon after his arrival he sought and obtained an interview with Colonel Malcolmson.
Jack was accompanied by Sergeant Morton, and in an open though respectful manner he made known his errand to the colonel.
"I have come to make inquiries about my father's money, sir," began Jack. "He was robbed of five hundred pounds a few days ago, by some Boers belonging to the commando you have captured."
"Oh, yes, I see, my boy; you are Mr. Lovat's son," said the colonel. "I must congratulate you on the splendid spirit you have shown during this very trying time. You have a perfect right to make every inquiry. I know, of course, about the robbery, for such it was, I am shortly having an interview with Commandant Uys and his veldt-cornet. If you wish, you can go with me, and you as well, Sergeant Morton. I believe the back of the rebellion is broken in this part of the colony."
Jack thanked the colonel for his courtesy, and said that he should be pleased if he could have an opportunity of speaking to the commandant. A few minutes later, Jack stood before the redoubtable Boer leader.
Uys was confined, along with several of his officers, in a large room in the Town Hall. Several of the Boer officers with him had been wounded, but there was a haughty look on all their faces. Although captured, their spirits were not broken.
The commandant opened his eyes in astonishment as he beheld Jack, who returned the gaze with interest.
"I have come to ask about my father's money, Commandant," said Jack.
"What money?" demanded Uys.
"The money of which he was robbed by your brigands," answered Jack boldly in Dutch.
"You are the young rooinek who escaped from my laager?" inquired the commandant.
"I am," replied Jack stolidly.
"After killing one of my best burghers," said the Boer leader in a stern tone of voice.
"You say so," said Jack. "It is a time of war, and many men are being killed daily. I have come to ask about my father's money, of which he was robbed at Jagger's Farm. He was not, and is not even now, at war with your race."
"I have not your father's money," observed Uys. "If I had, I would restore it to you. I cannot always restrain my burghers."
"But you are responsible for their actions, Commandant," said Jack boldly. "Your men also without provocation attacked my father's farm, but our Kaffirs and I repelled their assault."
"One question, youngster. I have given you an honest answer to a straight question. Who was your companion when we captured you in the donga?" asked Uys.
"He is here to answer for himself, Commandant. His name is Morton;" and Jack stepped to one side, saying as he did so, "Allow me, Commandant, to introduce Sergeant Morton of the Auckland Rangers to you."
The Boer leader frowned, and muttered, "I thought so! He is a lucky fellow."
Finding that he could derive no satisfaction from the answers given to his inquiries respecting his father's money, Jack bowed to the commandant and retired.
A couple of hours later, our hero found himself at the Kopje Farm, relating to his parents the adventures of the day, and when he flung himself on his bed, he felt that peace once more had come to dwell around his father's farmstead.
* * * * * *
Two years have passed away since the incidents recorded in this little book happened.
Under the silken folds of the Union Jack, Dutch and British alike enjoy the same liberties and privileges; but it is not of the land under the brilliant Southern Cross that we now write.
The purple heather is blooming on the moors and hillsides of bonnie Scotland, and in the glens shots are heard. Grouse-shooting has commenced in the Highlands, and a party of four are stalking through the heather, on sport intent.
One is a young lady, just blossoming into glorious womanhood. She is a keen sportswoman, and can handle a gun as well as the best of them. Her name is Miss Lovat, and she is the sister of the Laird of Airdtullish. Her face is darker than those of the majority of her fair countrywomen, but veldt breezes and scorching sunshine have the knack of tanning faces belonging to those of European birth.
Her companion is a gentleman of soldierly appearance, with a decided limp in his gait. The hair shading his temples is tinged with gray, although he is not yet forty. The quiet, soldierly man is our friend Major Salkeld, whose gallant defence against big odds in the donga over against Diamond Valley is recorded in the annals of the Auckland Rangers.
Since the grouse-shooting began, he has been Miss Lovat's devoted companion.
Let us glance at the remaining couple. Both are men, broad-shouldered and clean-flanked. We have met them before; for the younger man is our old friend Jack Lovat, and his companion Charlie Morton, head partner in the big diamond-broking firm of Morton & Company, Hatton Garden.
Jack's father is dead, and lies in the little cemetery at Orangefontein. The blow received from the clubbed rifle at Jagger's Farm inflicted a more severe wound than was at first imagined, and he gradually sickened and died.
Mrs. Lovat is still in the land of the living, but remains in delicate health. She is lovingly watched over by Mary and Jack, who are doing their best to smooth the dark passage leading to the life beyond.
There is another character who acts therôleof butler at Airdtullish Castle whom we must present to our readers. He is our honest friend Pat O'Neill, formerly the faithful henchman of Mr. Lovat, and now of his son. His tongue is as voluble as ever, and nothing delights him more than to recount the deeds of the young laird of Airdtullish to the servants at the Castle.
Morton and Jack are engaged in conversation.
"I often think about those five hundred sovereigns, Jack, which the Boers sneaked from your father. You never saw them again, I suppose?"
Jack laughed as he replied, "Well, perhaps I never did rest my optics upon the identical coins; but Colonel Malcolmson saw that my father had their value in horses, before he took Maestral's commando to Springbokfontein. My father certainly lost nothing by the bargain. It was rather fortunate in one sense that the Boers robbed him."
"What do you mean?" inquired the diamond merchant.
"Why, you would never have seen the Diamond Valley and Airdtullish. Our paternal home would never have been mine. I deeply grieve, however, for my father."
The pair relapsed into silence, and stood for a few moments gazing at the purple-clad mountains in the west. Here we must leave them, and say "Au revoir!" to the quartette, and to our boy readers who have followed the fortunes of the inmates of the Kopje Farm.
THE END
WILLIAM COLLINS, SONS, AND CO. LTD., LONDON AND GLASGOW