Chapter Three.

Chapter Three.Off To Africa.When Jack came to his senses again he was astonished to find himself tucked up in a cosy bed, with clean white sheets and a red counterpane. It was placed in the centre of a row of beds which were precisely similar, and which ran down one side of a large and comfortable-looking ward, on the opposite side of which there was a fire burning brightly, and a table round which sat three neatly-dressed nurses.Jack slowly ran his eyes round the ward, noted that most of the other beds had occupants, and that the three nurses looked decidedly pretty in their white caps and aprons. And all the while he wondered mildly what it all meant, why he was there, and what sort of a place it was. Then, like others who have been seriously ill for a considerable time and are almost too weak to move a hand, he closed his eyes again and fell into a deep sleep.When he awoke he lay quite still, with closed eyelids, listening to voices near his bedside.“He’ll do well now, Nurse,” he heard someone say, “and I am glad to be able to tell you that the worst is over. It was a difficult job to get the thigh in satisfactory position, and nicely put upon the splint. But it’s done, and done well, I think I may say. Your young friend will make steady progress now, sir,” the voice continued, “and from what I have learnt I am sure you will be very pleased to hear it. Good-day! I must be going now, as I have several other patients to look to.”“Good-day!” was repeated heartily by someone else, and then the owner of the first voice moved away.“I am delighted to hear the doctor’s report,” somebody else exclaimed, in tones which were unmistakably those of Dr Hanly. “He has met with a very nasty accident, and it takes quite a load from my mind to hear he is doing well. By all accounts he must have increased the severity of the injury by sticking to that fellow as he did. He’s a plucky lad.”“Plucky, my dear sir! I should think so indeed!” answered a third voice. “Why, I owe a lot to your young ward. There was really no call for him to come to our help; but he did so without hesitation, with the result that he got badly smashed, while Wilfred and I were merely a little bruised and knocked about.”“I’m glad to hear you say so, Mr Hunter,” was the doctor’s reply. “It is just like the lad to get into a mess in an attempt to help others who were in a tight corner. But we had better be moving away, I think, or we may disturb him.”“Don’t go, Doctor,” Jack feebly murmured at this moment, opening his eyes and looking up at his friend. “Tell me how I came to be here, and all about it. It’s awfully rummy! I cannot understand why I should be lying in bed, when only a minute ago I was well and strong and walking along the Embankment.”“Why, good gracious me! that was a week ago, Jack! This is a hospital in London, and you are in bed because your thigh is broken. But you must get to sleep. Mr Hunter and I will come again to-morrow.”Jack obediently closed his eyes, wondered in a dreamy kind of way who Mr Hunter might be, and who was the plucky lad he had been talking about, and promptly fell asleep.When he became conscious again a nurse was bending over him, and, feeling stronger and more lively, he was propped up in bed as far as his splint would allow, and given a cup of tea. From that day he rapidly improved. The pain, which had been severe at first after he had recovered consciousness, had now entirely gone, and about three weeks after his accident his bed was lifted on to a long wheeled chair, and he was able to get about the ward and chat with the other patients.Almost daily Mr Hunter and his son Wilfred came to see Jack, and very soon the two lads, who were within a few days of the same age, had become fast friends.“By Jove!” Wilfred exclaimed one day as he was sitting by Jack’s side, “it was touch and go for us when those four blackguards attacked us, and you were a perfect brick to come up in time to lend us a helping hand.”“Oh, humbug! What else could I have done?” answered Jack. “I heard your whistle and shouts, and guessed there was a row on. I couldn’t stand still, could I? so of course I came along to see what was up. Then, when I found it was an uneven fight, I tacked myself on to the side which wanted me most.”“It’s all very well your talking like that, Jack, but you know as well as I do that you might just as well have run in the opposite direction, especially when you saw what brutes the men were who were attacking us. But we’ll say no more about it just now. I’ll get even with you though, old chap, if I can manage it, one of these fine days.”“Then that’s agreed,” answered Jack; “but before you drop the subject, tell me what the row was really about. I suppose those fellows were after your money!”“Money! Yes, but in a different form from that in which you usually see it. You know, Father runs a big store out in Johannesburg, and deals in everything. You can get anything, from a bag of peas or a tin tack to Kimberley diamonds of the first water, from his shop, and it’s the last that those ruffians were after. But here is Father. Ask him, and he will tell you all about it.”“Well, Jack, getting along nicely, are you?” exclaimed the latter heartily. “And you want to know how it was we were attacked by those ruffians? It’s very simple. I have come over from South Africa for a holiday, and to see the old home. My wife and Wilfred came too, and during our stay here I have managed to combine business and pleasure. I brought over some diamonds, and on the day you came so opportunely to our aid I had been to a stone merchant in the city, and was returning with all those he had not bought from me; I should say some fifteen thousand pounds’ worth. It would have been a good haul if they had managed to get away with the bag. No doubt they knew all about me, and had tracked me all the way from the hotel. But they made a little mistake. You see in my younger days I had to rough it pretty well, and of recent years, while living in the Transvaal, life has not been altogether smooth. Every Boer’s hand there is against the Englishman, Uitlanders as they call us, and so one has to be particularly wary.“Immediately I caught sight of those rascals I guessed their game, but I can tell you, my lad, it would have been all U P if it hadn’t been for you and the whistle. Well, we came out of it pretty comfortably, save for your fractured thigh, and as soon as you are fit to go out those fellows will be tried and, I trust, will get heavily sentenced.“By the way, my boy, have you thought about the future? You know it will be at least three months before that leg of yours is really strong again; at least that is what the surgeon says.”“No, I haven’t given it a thought, Mr Hunter. I suppose I shall go home to the Grange for a month or so, and then return to the crammer’s. Not that that would be much good, for I cannot possibly go up for the next exam. I haven’t done nearly enough reading, and should certainly get ploughed if I attempted it.”“Why not come out to Africa with us?” said Mr Hunter earnestly. “We go as soon as those ruffians are tried, and we should be good companions on the way. Besides, it would be a splendid ‘pick-me-up’ for you; you would get the air on the voyage, and still be able to keep your leg in splints, or whatever is found necessary.”“Mr Hunter, it’s awfully kind of you, and I should enjoy it immensely!” Jack suddenly blurted out, and then stopped abruptly as the thought of the expense entailed flashed across his mind.“Then it’s settled,” exclaimed Mr Hunter. “I thought you’d jump at the idea. I’ve spoken to Dr Hanly about it, and he and your mother are quite willing for you to go. It will be the best thing you could possibly do under the circumstances, and besides, you may find that the experience will be of real service to you later on; for if you join the army it is more than probable that you will find yourself out in Africa with your regiment before many years are gone. I expect we shall sail in about a month’s time. It will be another four weeks before we reach Johnny’s Burg, as we call it, and then you can stay with us just as long as you please.”Jack was delighted at the prospect before him, and made up his mind to get his leg sound again as quickly as possible. Save for a trip on the Continent with his father he had never left the shores of old England, and now the knowledge that in a short time he would be on board a huge ocean-going vessel bound for Africa, the land of gold and diamonds, Zulus, ostriches, and lions, filled him with the highest spirits, and served, to no small extent, to relieve the tedium of his long stay in hospital.A month afterwards he was staying with the Hunters at a fine hotel near Piccadilly, and a week later had been able to give evidence at the Old Bailey—where he was complimented for his pluck by the judge,—and had seen the four ruffians who had attempted to obtain possession of the bag of diamonds condemned to heavy sentences.In a fortnight they had set sail from Southampton, and were well in the Channel. It was a lovely summer’s day, and Jack enjoyed the change immensely. Reclining in a long cane chair, propped up with cushions and wrapped in a rug, he was a subject of interest to the passengers, and before many days had passed was on the best of terms with all. Indeed, had he but known it, he was thought a deal of by them, for Mr Hunter and Wilfred had not failed, when they joined the gentlemen in the smoking-room, to tell how his leg became damaged; while Mrs Hunter confided it to the ladies after dinner in the drawing-room.Day by day Jack’s leg grew stronger and more firmly knit, and very soon, when the sea was quite smooth, he was able to hobble about the deck with the help of a crutch. Before the voyage was over he had discarded the plaster splint with which his thigh had been encased, and by the time the big ship steamed into Table Bay and whistled for the authorities to come off and give instructions as to where it was to berth, he had become quite an ordinary individual once more, and there was nothing noticeable about this strong, broad-shouldered young Englishman save the fact that he walked with a slight limp. It was a glorious morning when Mr and Mrs Hunter and the two boys landed, and as they were not to take the train for Johannesburg till the following day, Wilfred was able to escort Jack round the town and out into the country.Jack enjoyed it all immensely. The streets were much the same as in London, and in many respects it reminded him of home. But the people walking about were different; Englishmen were certainly in evidence, but there was a good sprinkling of other nationalities, French, German, Kafir, and especially Dutch.The country outside, however, was very different. The vegetation, of a semi-tropical nature, was more luxuriant and green, while the scorching sun overhead, and the dusty roads underfoot, which reflected the dazzling rays, were a complete change from what he had known in this country.Still, in spite of the glaring sun there was no doubt of the picturesqueness of Cape Town, backed as it was by its green slopes and fields, and frowned over by the sharply-cut summit of Table Mountain.Two days later the party arrived in Johannesburg, tired and weary after their long railway journey.“Now, Jack, you must do just as you like while you are here,” said Mr Hunter a few days after they had reached this modern city in which the Uitlander population of the Transvaal had, for the most part, taken up its residence. “Of course you will want to see Pretoria, and get a peep at his honour, dear old Kruger, whom we Englishmen love so much. Then, perhaps, you would like to accompany me to Kimberley. I go there about twice a month, and though it is a dusty, uninteresting sort of place at first sight, yet I think I can promise to open your eyes when I show you the mines. You have heard of them, of course, and are aware that they are valued at millions of pounds. On our way there, or on our return, we could take a peep at Bloemfontein, the capital of the Orange Free State, where President Steyn has his residence. It will be all new to you, and, I dare say, sufficiently interesting.”“Thank you very much, Mr Hunter!” Jack replied. “I am already awfully interested, and should certainly like to see all there is in the country. I wonder whether you would object to my helping sometimes in the store. I am quite strong enough for that now, and I should very much like to learn how you manage matters, and particularly how your books are kept. I am sorry to say I am a terribly poor hand at accounts. Mine never came out right at the end of the month in London.”“Mind! Of course not, Jack! I am glad to think you would care to do it. Place yourself in Wilfred’s hands. He knows all about it, and will show you how the business is carried on. Who knows? One of these days you may find shopkeeping more congenial than army life. Out here there are lots of young fellows who come from the best of houses in the old country, and yet are not ashamed to pull off their coats and put their shoulders to the wheel. Why, one man of my acquaintance, who is in a very prosperous way of business just now, in spite of the exorbitant taxation with which we have to put up, owns to a title in England, and when he was there would have no more thought of turning out in the streets of London without the time-honoured tail-coat and topper than he would have thought of flying. And here he is now, not too proud to make his living by honest means, simply because he happened to be born a lord. And there are lots more like him too. Dear me, what a shock their parents would have if they could see them now, working behind their counters with sleeves rolled up, and selling groceries or ironware as if they had been at it all their lives!”On the following day Jack took the train for Pretoria, and had the good fortune to catch a glimpse of Paul Kruger, President of the Transvaal Republic, as he drove by in his carriage.“Father says he’s the deepest and cleverest schemer that ever was!” exclaimed Wilfred, nodding after the carriage, “and from all one hears there can be little doubt about it. They say, too, that he is a religious man, and is something like the Puritans of old. Whatever he is, however, he is certainly one of our bitterest enemies. He simply loathes the sight of an Englishman, and won’t speak our language. He forgets all we have done for him, for I can tell you, there would have been no Kruger and no Boers in the Transvaal if it hadn’t been for our country.”“He’s a funny-looking fellow at any rate,” answered Jack; “and why in the name of all that’s rummy he should want to wear a topper in this outlandish place is more than I can guess. If I met him at home I should take him for some dissenting minister, a trifle hard-up and out-at-elbow.”“Hard-up!” exclaimed Wilfred in disgust. “Don’t make that mistake, Jack. Paul Kruger is no pauper. He is certainly one of the wealthiest of the Boers.”And this was exactly the case. President Kruger was a man who had for many years not only managed the affairs of this particular country, but had also contrived to look well after his own. It was only a glimpse that Jack caught of him, but it was quite sufficient to impress the features on his mind.Paul Kruger was a heavily-built man, arrayed in black from head to foot, which shone as all threadbare and worn-out clothing does. On his head was a fairly presentable top hat, and in his fat, ungainly hands he held a pair of black kid gloves.But his face was the part which riveted one’s attention.In anyone else’s case but the president’s it would have passed without comment, especially amongst a gathering of typical Boers. But, holding the position he did, one looked a second time, and noticed the wrinkled, jowly cheeks, fringed with a belt of straggly hair; the heavy, sleepy-looking eyes, overhung by bushy brows, and the general appearance of obtuseness.And yet it was this man who, for the sake of a boundless ambition, was destined to defy the might of England, ay, and stagger it with his blows; and he it was, this sheepish-looking Boer, who for years and years had been secretly dreaming and planning—planning to oust the Britishers from their fair colonies, and claim for himself the proud position and title of President—perhaps King—of the United States of Africa.Shortly after his return from Pretoria, Jack settled down to life in Johannesburg, and soon found himself quite one of the Uitlanders. His leg was now practically strong again, though he had not yet got rid of the limp. Still, for all that, he was able to get about, and even enjoy a game of cricket.Soon, too, he became accustomed to life in the store conducted by Mr Hunter, and made it a regular custom to help wherever he could during the morning hours. It was really a large shop, with several departments, and with a big storehouse behind. The main entrance was quite an imposing one, and a common place for friends to meet, while just inside was a large office in which the books were kept.Jack was often here, and did not take long to master the intricacies of book-keeping, so much so that he soon became of real help to Mr Hunter.In the afternoon he played cricket or drove out with Wilfred, and in the evening he and his friend frequently sauntered into the town, and played billiards at a large restaurant which was a popular rendezvous. Here he met numbers of Englishmen, and in addition several Boers, some of whom he learnt to like. But the younger men were for the most part odious, and gave themselves such airs that the Uitlanders held aloof from them.Now it happened that Jack and Wilfred frequently played with two other young fellows, one of whom was a delicate lad about Jack’s age, who had come to Africa for the sake of his health. His name was Mathews, and Jack took a great fancy to him. He was quiet and dignified, seldom spoke unless asked a question, and was as inoffensive and harmless a being as anyone could have wished to meet.But this very mildness was to be the cause of trouble, as Jack was soon to learn.Amongst the young Boers who visited the restaurant was one tall young man of about twenty-five, who made himself more objectionable than any of the others. He was bumptious to a degree, and openly expressed his hatred of all Englishmen. Even in the billiard saloon his sneers were loudly uttered, so that Jack itched to thrash him on several occasions. But Wilfred dissuaded him.“Be careful, Jack,” he exclaimed earnestly, one evening, when the Boer had been more than usually hostile. “Don’t take any notice of the brute, or it will lead you into trouble. I know him well, and so does Father, and I can tell you that Piet Maartens, as he calls himself, is a scoundrel, and a most dangerous man to have anything to do with. He is thickly in with the Kruger gang, and if all is true that has been said of him, he has a reputation that would hang a man in England. I have no wish to blacken his character. I merely tell the truth when I say that he has treated more than one of the Kaffirs on his father’s farm so brutally as to cause death. Keep clear of him, Jack!”“I’ll do my best, Wilfred,” Jack answered slowly, “but he’d better look out. I’m not going to stand quietly by much longer and listen to his sneers. One would think we Englishmen were dirt beneath his feet. Up to the present his remarks have been general, but I’ll tell you this, if he shouts any of his names at me, I’ll show him that an Englishman is as good as, and perhaps better than, a Boer. I’ve got a game leg, but that won’t prevent me from tackling him if it’s necessary.”“Take my advice; keep clear of him,” repeated Wilfred. “After all, if you had lived all your life here you would have become accustomed to the doings of these young Boers. Ever since Majuba they have been brought up to think of us and our soldiers as cowards, and their absolute ignorance prevents them from seeing their mistake. I never take any notice of them.”“Yes, I dare say that is the best plan,” Jack answered stubbornly; “but when I was at school a fellow had to take the consequences of what he said. If he called another chap names there was safe to be a row, and someone got a licking. That’s what happens in ordinary life, and it’s going to be the same here if that Piet Maartens doesn’t look out. Perhaps he could lick me if we had a fight, but I’d rather get knocked about and teach the fellow manners than sit down quietly and be insulted.”Jack meant every word he said. Himself a kind-hearted and polite young fellow, to hurt the feelings of a comrade, or of a foreigner who happened to be anywhere within hearing of him, was the last thing he would have thought of doing. And to be forced to listen to sneers which were meant for any Englishman who might happen to hear them was so galling that it set his blood on fire. Just as his stepbrother’s attempts to control his actions had raised his ire, so did the behaviour of this young Boer irritate him and stir him to anger. Jack was not pugnacious, but the mere suspicion that he was in the presence of a bully ruffled him, and his meetings with Piet Maartens had so convinced him that this was what he was at heart, that Jack, in his own quiet dogged way, determined to discomfit him at the very first opportunity.“He’s a bully,” he muttered to himself after Wilfred’s warning, “and I’m not going to put up with his sneers any longer.”A few nights later the four lads were playing billiards in the restaurant, and the opposite table was occupied by Piet Maartens and a friend, while a number of Uitlanders and Boers were looking on. Jack had completely forgotten his determination, and, wrapped up in the game, had scarcely noticed the other players. Mathews was his partner, and, suddenly getting the balls into a favourable position, was adding rapidly to the score. The onlookers became interested, and all stood up to watch the game. Even Piet Maartens stepped over, and, rudely pushing Jack aside, craned his head and watched as Mathews played a stroke.“Come here, Fritz,” he cried loudly. “Come and see this Uitlander. See, after all one of these Britishers is some good. Well, there is room for improvement, but whatever happens they will never make brave men.”Instantly the whole of the occupants of the room became silent, while Mathews turned round and faced the Boer.“You look after your own game, Maartens,” he said nervously.“Thank you, little man, but perhaps I prefer to look on at you,” Piet Maartens answered, while his companion gave vent to a sniggering laugh which set Jack’s pulses thumping.“Then you’ll have to wait a little,” cried Mathews angrily. “I’m going to stay here till you are out of the way.”“Don’t get angry, my friend,” the Boer answered tauntingly. “Here, this will cool you.” And snatching up a tumbler of iced water which stood on a table near at hand, he deliberately poured it over Mathews, drenching him to the skin.It was a foolish act and a cowardly one, for Mathews was a head and shoulders shorter than his opponent, and quite incapable of retaliating; and no doubt Piet Maartens had taken this into consideration. But for months and months he had indulged in sneering taunts, and no Englishman had had the temerity to make him answer for them. Not that they always lacked the courage, but it was not policy to fight with a Boer in the Transvaal, and thereby have one’s business prospects ruined. Piet Maartens had traded on this, and also on his height and strength.Having poured the contents of the tumbler over poor Mathews, he and his companions burst into loud laughter as their victim held his head down and attempted to shake the water off. But a second later they changed their tune.The sight of such an act of bullying had maddened Jack, and noticing a large glass jug of iced water on another table, he coolly walked over to it, lifted it by the handle, and having reached Piet Maartens’ side, brought it down with a bang on the top of his head, shivering the glass, and drenching him thoroughly. It was tit for tat, and at once a roar of laughter and applause burst from the Englishmen present.Jack took no notice of it, but stood quietly waiting till Piet had recovered himself. A second later both Boers rushed at him, and struck at him with their cues. One he dodged, and at the same time lunged forward, and struck out so strongly with his fist that Piet’s companion went rolling on the floor. But the other cue fell heavily upon his shoulder, and caused him considerable pain. A moment later he had snatched it out of Piet’s hand, and, breaking it across his knee, clutched the bully by his collar, and belaboured him till he howled for mercy. Then Jack let go, and, standing in front of him, waited to see what would happen, while the Englishmen approached nearer and looked on silently.“How dare you?” the Boer panted, scowling angrily at Jack. “If it were not that you are only a boy I would break you into pieces. Who asked you to interfere?”Piet Maartens clenched his fist and, approaching close to Jack, shook it in his face, while his comrade picked himself up from the floor, and looked as if on the point of rushing in again. But Wilfred at once stood by his friend’s side, and the Boer retired to the other side of the room. Meanwhile Jack never moved a step, but, leaning against the table, laughed scornfully.“Who asked you to ill-treat my friend?” he cried. “He had not injured you, and you deliberately poured a glass of water on his head. For that I gave you a ducking, and when you struck me with your cue I thrashed you with it. Now you threaten to knock me to pieces. Don’t let the fact of my age prevent you. I am quite ready.”Jack faced Piet Maartens coolly, and proceeded to divest himself of his coat.“Now,” he said sternly, stepping forward till he was within a foot of Piet, “put up your fists, and I will endeavour to teach you to keep your tongue to yourself, and to be careful in future when you speak of my countrymen.”Jack squared his shoulders, and put himself into a position of defence, while the onlookers cheered him loudly.But Piet Maartens had had enough. His eyes dropped before Jack’s determined gaze, and, muttering a fierce oath, he turned on his heel and left the saloon, followed by his companion.Jack at once slipped on his coat, and, nodding to all, went out with Wilfred and returned at once to the house.“By Jove, Jack,” exclaimed his friend enthusiastically, “you have done what no one else has been able to accomplish, and I admire your pluck, old chap! But take care of yourself. You have made an enemy of an unscrupulous brute, who will never forget that you have defied him, and made a fool of him. Well, I’m glad you did it; and there is one thing, we shall see less of him at the store. He was always popping in to speak to Father.”That evening Jack recounted the quarrel to Mr Hunter.“Ah! I am sorry to hear it, Jack, for you have really made an enemy of a dangerous fellow, as Wilfred says,” remarked the latter. “But I am glad in other respects, for it will keep him away. It would not be policy for me to send him about his business, but as it is he is not likely to trouble me again. For a long time he has spied upon me here, but with what object I have never been able to discover, though I suspect he is an agent of Kruger’s and is suspicious that I have arms concealed on the premises. He really is one of the most uppish of the many bumptious Boers to be met with here and in Pretoria, and of course in other towns in the Transvaal. Everywhere, all over the Transvaal, Englishmen are belittled and sneered at, simply because, years ago, in a fit of generosity we stayed our hands, and would not give them the lesson they deserved. And now we have a very different matter to face. We collectively outnumber them, I believe, but they are all armed, whereas we are forbidden to carry, or even to possess, a weapon of defence. Not only here, but in all the country parts, distrust of us is the rule, and I very much fear things are getting to such a pass that life will become intolerable to Englishmen who are worthy of that name. Once the Boers are openly opposed to us, we shall find ourselves engaged with an enemy nearly every one of whom is a sturdy, weather-hardened fighter, full of pluck and determination, and with a cunning in warfare which will try our troops, should they meet them, far more than is believed. But some day I will tell you all about our troubles. For the present I am glad you showed that fellow that you were by no means afraid of him. He wanted a lesson, and has had it.“I am going to Kimberley to-morrow, and suggest that you come with me. Matters will have quieted down when you return.”Jack jumped at the offer, for he had heard much of the diamond city, though when he got there he found that “city” was scarcely the term to apply to it. The mines are situated on the western border of the Orange Free State, which lies directly south of the Transvaal, and are about a hundred miles from Bloemfontein.It was a distinctly disappointing place at first, at least so Jack thought, especially when compared with Johannesburg. But when he and Mr Hunter had made a round of the mines, he was deeply impressed with the work carried on, and with the prosperous condition of everyone in the town. From Kimberley they returned to Bloemfontein, staying there only a few hours, for, unlike Pretoria, it was of little interest, while at the latter place the huge forts, which had recently been built on most modern lines, were alone well worth a visit.When they reached Johannesburg again, Jack had been exactly three months in the country, and liked it so much that he determined to stay still longer. His leg was now perfectly strong again, but the accident had been a severe one, and the shock to his system so great that it had brought to light some slight weakness of the lungs, which up to the moment when his thigh had been broken had remained completely unsuspected.“If you take my advice, my boy,” said Mr Hunter, patting him kindly on the back, one day when Jack had suggested it was time to return home, “you will stay on here for a complete year. We are some thousands of feet above the sea-level, and Johannesburg, and indeed most of the Transvaal, is notoriously healthy. You are not fit to go back to the cold English climate. Of course there is not much the matter with you, but I don’t like that weakness you sometimes complain of. I have written to Dr Hanly and your mother, and the former quite agrees with me that a prolonged stay will do you good.”“There is nothing I should like better, Mr Hunter,” Jack replied, “but what am I to do with myself all day?”“Oh, that is easily arranged! You seem to have taken quite kindly to shop life, and I am going to propose that you become one of my regular assistants. I shall only want you in the mornings, and as we always open early you will be able to get plenty of exercise in the open air. You have already made many friends here, and no doubt you will find plenty ready to accompany you on horseback out into the veldt. There are two good horses in the stable which you may use whenever you like.”Accordingly it was settled, much to Jack’s and Wilfred’s delight, that the former should prolong his visit, and very soon he had quite settled down to the life. Early morning found the two lads in their shirt sleeves outside the store taking down the shutters. By breakfast time everything was dusted and the goods uncovered. After the meal they stood behind their counters, and before long Jack knew as well as anyone in Johannesburg what was the current rate of butter and ham, and what was the lowest figure at which sugar could be sold in order to leave a good margin of profit for his employer.But there was really no need for the cutting down of prices. A store in such a populous town was a valuable property, and Mr Hunter’s had a reputation which ensured the various departments brisk business all day long. All who patronised it seemed to be in a prosperous way, and indeed only grumbled that all their energies and business prospects were smothered by the continual opposition and stupid action of President Kruger and the Boers.To say that Jack enjoyed the life he was now leading was to describe his feelings rightly. He took the deepest interest in his work, and after his hours in the shop were done, generally went for a gallop with one or more of the many young fellows he knew. Christmas came and went, and by the early months of the New-Year, the eventful and never-to-be-forgotten year of 1899, he was quite himself again, a rosy-cheeked and manly-looking young fellow whom everyone but Piet Maartens and his Boer sympathisers liked.So well did Jack’s life agree with him that he was within an ace of deciding to forego his commission in the army and remain for good in Africa. But Mr Hunter dissuaded him.“You are too young to settle down as yet,” he said. “And besides, it was your father’s wish that you should follow his footsteps and enter the army. Of course we should prefer you to stay, but under the circumstances I hope you will return and go up for that examination. Later on, perhaps, when you have knocked about the world a little more, you may wish to resign your commission, and then if you join us here all the better! You will be older and more ready to settle down, and your family ties in England are not likely to prevent your emigrating if you wish to do so.”Jack recognised the wisdom of doing as Mr Hunter suggested, and accordingly made all preparations to leave Africa in the following August.But the old proverb that “Man proposes and God disposes” was exemplified in his case. Events proved too strong for him, and he remained in the country, shoulder to shoulder with his English friends, to face the storm of passion which was soon to burst over their heads, and to take his part in the bitter struggle which was to be fought out between the Boers and their allies, and the sons of our mighty empire.

When Jack came to his senses again he was astonished to find himself tucked up in a cosy bed, with clean white sheets and a red counterpane. It was placed in the centre of a row of beds which were precisely similar, and which ran down one side of a large and comfortable-looking ward, on the opposite side of which there was a fire burning brightly, and a table round which sat three neatly-dressed nurses.

Jack slowly ran his eyes round the ward, noted that most of the other beds had occupants, and that the three nurses looked decidedly pretty in their white caps and aprons. And all the while he wondered mildly what it all meant, why he was there, and what sort of a place it was. Then, like others who have been seriously ill for a considerable time and are almost too weak to move a hand, he closed his eyes again and fell into a deep sleep.

When he awoke he lay quite still, with closed eyelids, listening to voices near his bedside.

“He’ll do well now, Nurse,” he heard someone say, “and I am glad to be able to tell you that the worst is over. It was a difficult job to get the thigh in satisfactory position, and nicely put upon the splint. But it’s done, and done well, I think I may say. Your young friend will make steady progress now, sir,” the voice continued, “and from what I have learnt I am sure you will be very pleased to hear it. Good-day! I must be going now, as I have several other patients to look to.”

“Good-day!” was repeated heartily by someone else, and then the owner of the first voice moved away.

“I am delighted to hear the doctor’s report,” somebody else exclaimed, in tones which were unmistakably those of Dr Hanly. “He has met with a very nasty accident, and it takes quite a load from my mind to hear he is doing well. By all accounts he must have increased the severity of the injury by sticking to that fellow as he did. He’s a plucky lad.”

“Plucky, my dear sir! I should think so indeed!” answered a third voice. “Why, I owe a lot to your young ward. There was really no call for him to come to our help; but he did so without hesitation, with the result that he got badly smashed, while Wilfred and I were merely a little bruised and knocked about.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so, Mr Hunter,” was the doctor’s reply. “It is just like the lad to get into a mess in an attempt to help others who were in a tight corner. But we had better be moving away, I think, or we may disturb him.”

“Don’t go, Doctor,” Jack feebly murmured at this moment, opening his eyes and looking up at his friend. “Tell me how I came to be here, and all about it. It’s awfully rummy! I cannot understand why I should be lying in bed, when only a minute ago I was well and strong and walking along the Embankment.”

“Why, good gracious me! that was a week ago, Jack! This is a hospital in London, and you are in bed because your thigh is broken. But you must get to sleep. Mr Hunter and I will come again to-morrow.”

Jack obediently closed his eyes, wondered in a dreamy kind of way who Mr Hunter might be, and who was the plucky lad he had been talking about, and promptly fell asleep.

When he became conscious again a nurse was bending over him, and, feeling stronger and more lively, he was propped up in bed as far as his splint would allow, and given a cup of tea. From that day he rapidly improved. The pain, which had been severe at first after he had recovered consciousness, had now entirely gone, and about three weeks after his accident his bed was lifted on to a long wheeled chair, and he was able to get about the ward and chat with the other patients.

Almost daily Mr Hunter and his son Wilfred came to see Jack, and very soon the two lads, who were within a few days of the same age, had become fast friends.

“By Jove!” Wilfred exclaimed one day as he was sitting by Jack’s side, “it was touch and go for us when those four blackguards attacked us, and you were a perfect brick to come up in time to lend us a helping hand.”

“Oh, humbug! What else could I have done?” answered Jack. “I heard your whistle and shouts, and guessed there was a row on. I couldn’t stand still, could I? so of course I came along to see what was up. Then, when I found it was an uneven fight, I tacked myself on to the side which wanted me most.”

“It’s all very well your talking like that, Jack, but you know as well as I do that you might just as well have run in the opposite direction, especially when you saw what brutes the men were who were attacking us. But we’ll say no more about it just now. I’ll get even with you though, old chap, if I can manage it, one of these fine days.”

“Then that’s agreed,” answered Jack; “but before you drop the subject, tell me what the row was really about. I suppose those fellows were after your money!”

“Money! Yes, but in a different form from that in which you usually see it. You know, Father runs a big store out in Johannesburg, and deals in everything. You can get anything, from a bag of peas or a tin tack to Kimberley diamonds of the first water, from his shop, and it’s the last that those ruffians were after. But here is Father. Ask him, and he will tell you all about it.”

“Well, Jack, getting along nicely, are you?” exclaimed the latter heartily. “And you want to know how it was we were attacked by those ruffians? It’s very simple. I have come over from South Africa for a holiday, and to see the old home. My wife and Wilfred came too, and during our stay here I have managed to combine business and pleasure. I brought over some diamonds, and on the day you came so opportunely to our aid I had been to a stone merchant in the city, and was returning with all those he had not bought from me; I should say some fifteen thousand pounds’ worth. It would have been a good haul if they had managed to get away with the bag. No doubt they knew all about me, and had tracked me all the way from the hotel. But they made a little mistake. You see in my younger days I had to rough it pretty well, and of recent years, while living in the Transvaal, life has not been altogether smooth. Every Boer’s hand there is against the Englishman, Uitlanders as they call us, and so one has to be particularly wary.

“Immediately I caught sight of those rascals I guessed their game, but I can tell you, my lad, it would have been all U P if it hadn’t been for you and the whistle. Well, we came out of it pretty comfortably, save for your fractured thigh, and as soon as you are fit to go out those fellows will be tried and, I trust, will get heavily sentenced.

“By the way, my boy, have you thought about the future? You know it will be at least three months before that leg of yours is really strong again; at least that is what the surgeon says.”

“No, I haven’t given it a thought, Mr Hunter. I suppose I shall go home to the Grange for a month or so, and then return to the crammer’s. Not that that would be much good, for I cannot possibly go up for the next exam. I haven’t done nearly enough reading, and should certainly get ploughed if I attempted it.”

“Why not come out to Africa with us?” said Mr Hunter earnestly. “We go as soon as those ruffians are tried, and we should be good companions on the way. Besides, it would be a splendid ‘pick-me-up’ for you; you would get the air on the voyage, and still be able to keep your leg in splints, or whatever is found necessary.”

“Mr Hunter, it’s awfully kind of you, and I should enjoy it immensely!” Jack suddenly blurted out, and then stopped abruptly as the thought of the expense entailed flashed across his mind.

“Then it’s settled,” exclaimed Mr Hunter. “I thought you’d jump at the idea. I’ve spoken to Dr Hanly about it, and he and your mother are quite willing for you to go. It will be the best thing you could possibly do under the circumstances, and besides, you may find that the experience will be of real service to you later on; for if you join the army it is more than probable that you will find yourself out in Africa with your regiment before many years are gone. I expect we shall sail in about a month’s time. It will be another four weeks before we reach Johnny’s Burg, as we call it, and then you can stay with us just as long as you please.”

Jack was delighted at the prospect before him, and made up his mind to get his leg sound again as quickly as possible. Save for a trip on the Continent with his father he had never left the shores of old England, and now the knowledge that in a short time he would be on board a huge ocean-going vessel bound for Africa, the land of gold and diamonds, Zulus, ostriches, and lions, filled him with the highest spirits, and served, to no small extent, to relieve the tedium of his long stay in hospital.

A month afterwards he was staying with the Hunters at a fine hotel near Piccadilly, and a week later had been able to give evidence at the Old Bailey—where he was complimented for his pluck by the judge,—and had seen the four ruffians who had attempted to obtain possession of the bag of diamonds condemned to heavy sentences.

In a fortnight they had set sail from Southampton, and were well in the Channel. It was a lovely summer’s day, and Jack enjoyed the change immensely. Reclining in a long cane chair, propped up with cushions and wrapped in a rug, he was a subject of interest to the passengers, and before many days had passed was on the best of terms with all. Indeed, had he but known it, he was thought a deal of by them, for Mr Hunter and Wilfred had not failed, when they joined the gentlemen in the smoking-room, to tell how his leg became damaged; while Mrs Hunter confided it to the ladies after dinner in the drawing-room.

Day by day Jack’s leg grew stronger and more firmly knit, and very soon, when the sea was quite smooth, he was able to hobble about the deck with the help of a crutch. Before the voyage was over he had discarded the plaster splint with which his thigh had been encased, and by the time the big ship steamed into Table Bay and whistled for the authorities to come off and give instructions as to where it was to berth, he had become quite an ordinary individual once more, and there was nothing noticeable about this strong, broad-shouldered young Englishman save the fact that he walked with a slight limp. It was a glorious morning when Mr and Mrs Hunter and the two boys landed, and as they were not to take the train for Johannesburg till the following day, Wilfred was able to escort Jack round the town and out into the country.

Jack enjoyed it all immensely. The streets were much the same as in London, and in many respects it reminded him of home. But the people walking about were different; Englishmen were certainly in evidence, but there was a good sprinkling of other nationalities, French, German, Kafir, and especially Dutch.

The country outside, however, was very different. The vegetation, of a semi-tropical nature, was more luxuriant and green, while the scorching sun overhead, and the dusty roads underfoot, which reflected the dazzling rays, were a complete change from what he had known in this country.

Still, in spite of the glaring sun there was no doubt of the picturesqueness of Cape Town, backed as it was by its green slopes and fields, and frowned over by the sharply-cut summit of Table Mountain.

Two days later the party arrived in Johannesburg, tired and weary after their long railway journey.

“Now, Jack, you must do just as you like while you are here,” said Mr Hunter a few days after they had reached this modern city in which the Uitlander population of the Transvaal had, for the most part, taken up its residence. “Of course you will want to see Pretoria, and get a peep at his honour, dear old Kruger, whom we Englishmen love so much. Then, perhaps, you would like to accompany me to Kimberley. I go there about twice a month, and though it is a dusty, uninteresting sort of place at first sight, yet I think I can promise to open your eyes when I show you the mines. You have heard of them, of course, and are aware that they are valued at millions of pounds. On our way there, or on our return, we could take a peep at Bloemfontein, the capital of the Orange Free State, where President Steyn has his residence. It will be all new to you, and, I dare say, sufficiently interesting.”

“Thank you very much, Mr Hunter!” Jack replied. “I am already awfully interested, and should certainly like to see all there is in the country. I wonder whether you would object to my helping sometimes in the store. I am quite strong enough for that now, and I should very much like to learn how you manage matters, and particularly how your books are kept. I am sorry to say I am a terribly poor hand at accounts. Mine never came out right at the end of the month in London.”

“Mind! Of course not, Jack! I am glad to think you would care to do it. Place yourself in Wilfred’s hands. He knows all about it, and will show you how the business is carried on. Who knows? One of these days you may find shopkeeping more congenial than army life. Out here there are lots of young fellows who come from the best of houses in the old country, and yet are not ashamed to pull off their coats and put their shoulders to the wheel. Why, one man of my acquaintance, who is in a very prosperous way of business just now, in spite of the exorbitant taxation with which we have to put up, owns to a title in England, and when he was there would have no more thought of turning out in the streets of London without the time-honoured tail-coat and topper than he would have thought of flying. And here he is now, not too proud to make his living by honest means, simply because he happened to be born a lord. And there are lots more like him too. Dear me, what a shock their parents would have if they could see them now, working behind their counters with sleeves rolled up, and selling groceries or ironware as if they had been at it all their lives!”

On the following day Jack took the train for Pretoria, and had the good fortune to catch a glimpse of Paul Kruger, President of the Transvaal Republic, as he drove by in his carriage.

“Father says he’s the deepest and cleverest schemer that ever was!” exclaimed Wilfred, nodding after the carriage, “and from all one hears there can be little doubt about it. They say, too, that he is a religious man, and is something like the Puritans of old. Whatever he is, however, he is certainly one of our bitterest enemies. He simply loathes the sight of an Englishman, and won’t speak our language. He forgets all we have done for him, for I can tell you, there would have been no Kruger and no Boers in the Transvaal if it hadn’t been for our country.”

“He’s a funny-looking fellow at any rate,” answered Jack; “and why in the name of all that’s rummy he should want to wear a topper in this outlandish place is more than I can guess. If I met him at home I should take him for some dissenting minister, a trifle hard-up and out-at-elbow.”

“Hard-up!” exclaimed Wilfred in disgust. “Don’t make that mistake, Jack. Paul Kruger is no pauper. He is certainly one of the wealthiest of the Boers.”

And this was exactly the case. President Kruger was a man who had for many years not only managed the affairs of this particular country, but had also contrived to look well after his own. It was only a glimpse that Jack caught of him, but it was quite sufficient to impress the features on his mind.

Paul Kruger was a heavily-built man, arrayed in black from head to foot, which shone as all threadbare and worn-out clothing does. On his head was a fairly presentable top hat, and in his fat, ungainly hands he held a pair of black kid gloves.

But his face was the part which riveted one’s attention.

In anyone else’s case but the president’s it would have passed without comment, especially amongst a gathering of typical Boers. But, holding the position he did, one looked a second time, and noticed the wrinkled, jowly cheeks, fringed with a belt of straggly hair; the heavy, sleepy-looking eyes, overhung by bushy brows, and the general appearance of obtuseness.

And yet it was this man who, for the sake of a boundless ambition, was destined to defy the might of England, ay, and stagger it with his blows; and he it was, this sheepish-looking Boer, who for years and years had been secretly dreaming and planning—planning to oust the Britishers from their fair colonies, and claim for himself the proud position and title of President—perhaps King—of the United States of Africa.

Shortly after his return from Pretoria, Jack settled down to life in Johannesburg, and soon found himself quite one of the Uitlanders. His leg was now practically strong again, though he had not yet got rid of the limp. Still, for all that, he was able to get about, and even enjoy a game of cricket.

Soon, too, he became accustomed to life in the store conducted by Mr Hunter, and made it a regular custom to help wherever he could during the morning hours. It was really a large shop, with several departments, and with a big storehouse behind. The main entrance was quite an imposing one, and a common place for friends to meet, while just inside was a large office in which the books were kept.

Jack was often here, and did not take long to master the intricacies of book-keeping, so much so that he soon became of real help to Mr Hunter.

In the afternoon he played cricket or drove out with Wilfred, and in the evening he and his friend frequently sauntered into the town, and played billiards at a large restaurant which was a popular rendezvous. Here he met numbers of Englishmen, and in addition several Boers, some of whom he learnt to like. But the younger men were for the most part odious, and gave themselves such airs that the Uitlanders held aloof from them.

Now it happened that Jack and Wilfred frequently played with two other young fellows, one of whom was a delicate lad about Jack’s age, who had come to Africa for the sake of his health. His name was Mathews, and Jack took a great fancy to him. He was quiet and dignified, seldom spoke unless asked a question, and was as inoffensive and harmless a being as anyone could have wished to meet.

But this very mildness was to be the cause of trouble, as Jack was soon to learn.

Amongst the young Boers who visited the restaurant was one tall young man of about twenty-five, who made himself more objectionable than any of the others. He was bumptious to a degree, and openly expressed his hatred of all Englishmen. Even in the billiard saloon his sneers were loudly uttered, so that Jack itched to thrash him on several occasions. But Wilfred dissuaded him.

“Be careful, Jack,” he exclaimed earnestly, one evening, when the Boer had been more than usually hostile. “Don’t take any notice of the brute, or it will lead you into trouble. I know him well, and so does Father, and I can tell you that Piet Maartens, as he calls himself, is a scoundrel, and a most dangerous man to have anything to do with. He is thickly in with the Kruger gang, and if all is true that has been said of him, he has a reputation that would hang a man in England. I have no wish to blacken his character. I merely tell the truth when I say that he has treated more than one of the Kaffirs on his father’s farm so brutally as to cause death. Keep clear of him, Jack!”

“I’ll do my best, Wilfred,” Jack answered slowly, “but he’d better look out. I’m not going to stand quietly by much longer and listen to his sneers. One would think we Englishmen were dirt beneath his feet. Up to the present his remarks have been general, but I’ll tell you this, if he shouts any of his names at me, I’ll show him that an Englishman is as good as, and perhaps better than, a Boer. I’ve got a game leg, but that won’t prevent me from tackling him if it’s necessary.”

“Take my advice; keep clear of him,” repeated Wilfred. “After all, if you had lived all your life here you would have become accustomed to the doings of these young Boers. Ever since Majuba they have been brought up to think of us and our soldiers as cowards, and their absolute ignorance prevents them from seeing their mistake. I never take any notice of them.”

“Yes, I dare say that is the best plan,” Jack answered stubbornly; “but when I was at school a fellow had to take the consequences of what he said. If he called another chap names there was safe to be a row, and someone got a licking. That’s what happens in ordinary life, and it’s going to be the same here if that Piet Maartens doesn’t look out. Perhaps he could lick me if we had a fight, but I’d rather get knocked about and teach the fellow manners than sit down quietly and be insulted.”

Jack meant every word he said. Himself a kind-hearted and polite young fellow, to hurt the feelings of a comrade, or of a foreigner who happened to be anywhere within hearing of him, was the last thing he would have thought of doing. And to be forced to listen to sneers which were meant for any Englishman who might happen to hear them was so galling that it set his blood on fire. Just as his stepbrother’s attempts to control his actions had raised his ire, so did the behaviour of this young Boer irritate him and stir him to anger. Jack was not pugnacious, but the mere suspicion that he was in the presence of a bully ruffled him, and his meetings with Piet Maartens had so convinced him that this was what he was at heart, that Jack, in his own quiet dogged way, determined to discomfit him at the very first opportunity.

“He’s a bully,” he muttered to himself after Wilfred’s warning, “and I’m not going to put up with his sneers any longer.”

A few nights later the four lads were playing billiards in the restaurant, and the opposite table was occupied by Piet Maartens and a friend, while a number of Uitlanders and Boers were looking on. Jack had completely forgotten his determination, and, wrapped up in the game, had scarcely noticed the other players. Mathews was his partner, and, suddenly getting the balls into a favourable position, was adding rapidly to the score. The onlookers became interested, and all stood up to watch the game. Even Piet Maartens stepped over, and, rudely pushing Jack aside, craned his head and watched as Mathews played a stroke.

“Come here, Fritz,” he cried loudly. “Come and see this Uitlander. See, after all one of these Britishers is some good. Well, there is room for improvement, but whatever happens they will never make brave men.”

Instantly the whole of the occupants of the room became silent, while Mathews turned round and faced the Boer.

“You look after your own game, Maartens,” he said nervously.

“Thank you, little man, but perhaps I prefer to look on at you,” Piet Maartens answered, while his companion gave vent to a sniggering laugh which set Jack’s pulses thumping.

“Then you’ll have to wait a little,” cried Mathews angrily. “I’m going to stay here till you are out of the way.”

“Don’t get angry, my friend,” the Boer answered tauntingly. “Here, this will cool you.” And snatching up a tumbler of iced water which stood on a table near at hand, he deliberately poured it over Mathews, drenching him to the skin.

It was a foolish act and a cowardly one, for Mathews was a head and shoulders shorter than his opponent, and quite incapable of retaliating; and no doubt Piet Maartens had taken this into consideration. But for months and months he had indulged in sneering taunts, and no Englishman had had the temerity to make him answer for them. Not that they always lacked the courage, but it was not policy to fight with a Boer in the Transvaal, and thereby have one’s business prospects ruined. Piet Maartens had traded on this, and also on his height and strength.

Having poured the contents of the tumbler over poor Mathews, he and his companions burst into loud laughter as their victim held his head down and attempted to shake the water off. But a second later they changed their tune.

The sight of such an act of bullying had maddened Jack, and noticing a large glass jug of iced water on another table, he coolly walked over to it, lifted it by the handle, and having reached Piet Maartens’ side, brought it down with a bang on the top of his head, shivering the glass, and drenching him thoroughly. It was tit for tat, and at once a roar of laughter and applause burst from the Englishmen present.

Jack took no notice of it, but stood quietly waiting till Piet had recovered himself. A second later both Boers rushed at him, and struck at him with their cues. One he dodged, and at the same time lunged forward, and struck out so strongly with his fist that Piet’s companion went rolling on the floor. But the other cue fell heavily upon his shoulder, and caused him considerable pain. A moment later he had snatched it out of Piet’s hand, and, breaking it across his knee, clutched the bully by his collar, and belaboured him till he howled for mercy. Then Jack let go, and, standing in front of him, waited to see what would happen, while the Englishmen approached nearer and looked on silently.

“How dare you?” the Boer panted, scowling angrily at Jack. “If it were not that you are only a boy I would break you into pieces. Who asked you to interfere?”

Piet Maartens clenched his fist and, approaching close to Jack, shook it in his face, while his comrade picked himself up from the floor, and looked as if on the point of rushing in again. But Wilfred at once stood by his friend’s side, and the Boer retired to the other side of the room. Meanwhile Jack never moved a step, but, leaning against the table, laughed scornfully.

“Who asked you to ill-treat my friend?” he cried. “He had not injured you, and you deliberately poured a glass of water on his head. For that I gave you a ducking, and when you struck me with your cue I thrashed you with it. Now you threaten to knock me to pieces. Don’t let the fact of my age prevent you. I am quite ready.”

Jack faced Piet Maartens coolly, and proceeded to divest himself of his coat.

“Now,” he said sternly, stepping forward till he was within a foot of Piet, “put up your fists, and I will endeavour to teach you to keep your tongue to yourself, and to be careful in future when you speak of my countrymen.”

Jack squared his shoulders, and put himself into a position of defence, while the onlookers cheered him loudly.

But Piet Maartens had had enough. His eyes dropped before Jack’s determined gaze, and, muttering a fierce oath, he turned on his heel and left the saloon, followed by his companion.

Jack at once slipped on his coat, and, nodding to all, went out with Wilfred and returned at once to the house.

“By Jove, Jack,” exclaimed his friend enthusiastically, “you have done what no one else has been able to accomplish, and I admire your pluck, old chap! But take care of yourself. You have made an enemy of an unscrupulous brute, who will never forget that you have defied him, and made a fool of him. Well, I’m glad you did it; and there is one thing, we shall see less of him at the store. He was always popping in to speak to Father.”

That evening Jack recounted the quarrel to Mr Hunter.

“Ah! I am sorry to hear it, Jack, for you have really made an enemy of a dangerous fellow, as Wilfred says,” remarked the latter. “But I am glad in other respects, for it will keep him away. It would not be policy for me to send him about his business, but as it is he is not likely to trouble me again. For a long time he has spied upon me here, but with what object I have never been able to discover, though I suspect he is an agent of Kruger’s and is suspicious that I have arms concealed on the premises. He really is one of the most uppish of the many bumptious Boers to be met with here and in Pretoria, and of course in other towns in the Transvaal. Everywhere, all over the Transvaal, Englishmen are belittled and sneered at, simply because, years ago, in a fit of generosity we stayed our hands, and would not give them the lesson they deserved. And now we have a very different matter to face. We collectively outnumber them, I believe, but they are all armed, whereas we are forbidden to carry, or even to possess, a weapon of defence. Not only here, but in all the country parts, distrust of us is the rule, and I very much fear things are getting to such a pass that life will become intolerable to Englishmen who are worthy of that name. Once the Boers are openly opposed to us, we shall find ourselves engaged with an enemy nearly every one of whom is a sturdy, weather-hardened fighter, full of pluck and determination, and with a cunning in warfare which will try our troops, should they meet them, far more than is believed. But some day I will tell you all about our troubles. For the present I am glad you showed that fellow that you were by no means afraid of him. He wanted a lesson, and has had it.

“I am going to Kimberley to-morrow, and suggest that you come with me. Matters will have quieted down when you return.”

Jack jumped at the offer, for he had heard much of the diamond city, though when he got there he found that “city” was scarcely the term to apply to it. The mines are situated on the western border of the Orange Free State, which lies directly south of the Transvaal, and are about a hundred miles from Bloemfontein.

It was a distinctly disappointing place at first, at least so Jack thought, especially when compared with Johannesburg. But when he and Mr Hunter had made a round of the mines, he was deeply impressed with the work carried on, and with the prosperous condition of everyone in the town. From Kimberley they returned to Bloemfontein, staying there only a few hours, for, unlike Pretoria, it was of little interest, while at the latter place the huge forts, which had recently been built on most modern lines, were alone well worth a visit.

When they reached Johannesburg again, Jack had been exactly three months in the country, and liked it so much that he determined to stay still longer. His leg was now perfectly strong again, but the accident had been a severe one, and the shock to his system so great that it had brought to light some slight weakness of the lungs, which up to the moment when his thigh had been broken had remained completely unsuspected.

“If you take my advice, my boy,” said Mr Hunter, patting him kindly on the back, one day when Jack had suggested it was time to return home, “you will stay on here for a complete year. We are some thousands of feet above the sea-level, and Johannesburg, and indeed most of the Transvaal, is notoriously healthy. You are not fit to go back to the cold English climate. Of course there is not much the matter with you, but I don’t like that weakness you sometimes complain of. I have written to Dr Hanly and your mother, and the former quite agrees with me that a prolonged stay will do you good.”

“There is nothing I should like better, Mr Hunter,” Jack replied, “but what am I to do with myself all day?”

“Oh, that is easily arranged! You seem to have taken quite kindly to shop life, and I am going to propose that you become one of my regular assistants. I shall only want you in the mornings, and as we always open early you will be able to get plenty of exercise in the open air. You have already made many friends here, and no doubt you will find plenty ready to accompany you on horseback out into the veldt. There are two good horses in the stable which you may use whenever you like.”

Accordingly it was settled, much to Jack’s and Wilfred’s delight, that the former should prolong his visit, and very soon he had quite settled down to the life. Early morning found the two lads in their shirt sleeves outside the store taking down the shutters. By breakfast time everything was dusted and the goods uncovered. After the meal they stood behind their counters, and before long Jack knew as well as anyone in Johannesburg what was the current rate of butter and ham, and what was the lowest figure at which sugar could be sold in order to leave a good margin of profit for his employer.

But there was really no need for the cutting down of prices. A store in such a populous town was a valuable property, and Mr Hunter’s had a reputation which ensured the various departments brisk business all day long. All who patronised it seemed to be in a prosperous way, and indeed only grumbled that all their energies and business prospects were smothered by the continual opposition and stupid action of President Kruger and the Boers.

To say that Jack enjoyed the life he was now leading was to describe his feelings rightly. He took the deepest interest in his work, and after his hours in the shop were done, generally went for a gallop with one or more of the many young fellows he knew. Christmas came and went, and by the early months of the New-Year, the eventful and never-to-be-forgotten year of 1899, he was quite himself again, a rosy-cheeked and manly-looking young fellow whom everyone but Piet Maartens and his Boer sympathisers liked.

So well did Jack’s life agree with him that he was within an ace of deciding to forego his commission in the army and remain for good in Africa. But Mr Hunter dissuaded him.

“You are too young to settle down as yet,” he said. “And besides, it was your father’s wish that you should follow his footsteps and enter the army. Of course we should prefer you to stay, but under the circumstances I hope you will return and go up for that examination. Later on, perhaps, when you have knocked about the world a little more, you may wish to resign your commission, and then if you join us here all the better! You will be older and more ready to settle down, and your family ties in England are not likely to prevent your emigrating if you wish to do so.”

Jack recognised the wisdom of doing as Mr Hunter suggested, and accordingly made all preparations to leave Africa in the following August.

But the old proverb that “Man proposes and God disposes” was exemplified in his case. Events proved too strong for him, and he remained in the country, shoulder to shoulder with his English friends, to face the storm of passion which was soon to burst over their heads, and to take his part in the bitter struggle which was to be fought out between the Boers and their allies, and the sons of our mighty empire.

Chapter Four.A Startling Adventure.“Jack, how would you like to carry out a little piece of business for me?” asked Mr Hunter one morning, extracting a letter from a big bundle which he held in his hand.“I have just had this offer of leather goods from the agents in Durban, with whom I am in the habit of dealing. In spite of war scares, and the fear that we should have to leave the country suddenly, shoals of new-comers constantly reach us, and such articles as bags and trunks are always in demand by those who are forced to travel from town to town. Saddlery, bits, and reins are also easily disposed of. This would be a good opportunity for you to make a run down to Durban. You have never been there, and you could inspect these goods between the hours when you will be looking round the town.“There is a list of the articles that have just been shipped over from England, and you will notice that against the prices quoted I have ticked down the amount usually asked for here. If the goods are of first-rate quality, you may close with the agents at once.”“Thanks! It’s very good of you, and I’d like to go immensely, Mr Hunter,” Jack answered. “How many of each of these items am I to buy? I see you have not stated that.”“Well, I imagine it is a big consignment, Jack, and I believe by buying now I shall be able to sell all at a large profit, for I think there is likely to be an unprecedented demand very shortly. So I shall leave it to your discretion to buy as many as you think reasonable. Here is a signed cheque. Of course you will get something taken off for a large order, and the terms I shall also leave to you. You have already shown you possess a business head, and I can therefore rely upon your carrying the arrangements out satisfactorily. Fill in the cheque and hand it over when you have settled the matter. To-day is Saturday. You had better start on Monday morning, and I shall expect you back on the Thursday or Friday following.”Jack was delighted at the confidence placed in him, and set off on the Monday morning in the highest spirits. He purchased a return ticket, shook hands with Wilfred—who would have liked to accompany him, but had to remain behind, as his father was going to Kimberley for a few days,—and jumped into a luxuriously-furnished carriage.It was a long and monotonous journey to Durban. Many of the towns they passed through, however, bore names which only a few months later were to be in the mouths of all Englishmen, in fact of the whole of the civilised world.Running south towards the Orange Free State border, the railway curved towards the south-east, passing in succession Heidelberg, Standerton, and Volksrust. Then, with a loud and piercing shriek from the engine whistle, the train dived into a long, dark tunnel in the Drakenberg range of mountains, and emerged into Natal, one of England’s most loyal colonies. Sweeping past Laing’s Nek and Majuba Hill, names which will ever cause our countrymen to grit their teeth with vexation and regret, the train passed through a mountainous and extremely rugged country, and finally pulled up at Newcastle, one of the towns where the opening scenes of the second Boer war were to be laid. Then, after a ten-minute wait, the guard’s whistle sounded, and they steamed on past Glencoe and Dundee, and, swerving to the right away from the neighbourhood of Rorke’s Drift (that little mission station on the banks of the deep, swift-flowing Buffalo River, where a mere handful of English soldiers kept at bay the flower of Cetewayo’s army of fierce Zulus), they ran through Elands Laagte and Reitfontein, and drew up once more, at Ladysmith. On proceeding, the train ran down to the river Tugela, skirted its western bank, and thundered across the bridge, and on past Chieveley and Frere to Estcourt, stopping only when it had run into the station at Pietermaritzburg. From there to Durban was only a short spin, and very soon Jack had arrived, and had been whirled to his hotel on a “rickshaw” drawn by a strapping Kafir.On the following day he called on the agents, and inspected the leather goods he had been commissioned to buy; and having decided how many to take, and offered a certain sum down for the articles he required, he left the warehouses, promising to call at the same hour next day and hear whether they would accept it or not.Then he took a “rickshaw” a little way out of the town, and called upon a young fellow who had sailed out from England with him.“What! Somerton! The fellow with a groggy leg whom the ladies on board took so much care of!” the latter exclaimed, shaking Jack cordially by the hand, and forcing him into a chair on the shady verandah on which the two lads had met.“Boy! Joko! Do you hear?” he shouted. “Look lively! I’m on the verandah.”“Coming, Baas! coming!” sounded away from the opposite side of the house, from which a Kafir appeared a moment later, in a desperate hurry to obey his master.“Now, Somerton,” said Jack’s jovial friend, whose name was Turner, “join me in a lemon-squash and a cigarette. It’s a funny combination, but I find it agrees with me, and I’m sure it’s far better for one than drinking spirits as many fellows do.”Jack gladly agreed to do so, and soon they were lolling back out of the heat of the sun, puffing their cigarettes, for that was a habit which Jack had already learnt to appreciate, and chatting about their respective doings for the past few months.“So you’re up in the Transvaal with Mr Hunter, and under the eyes of the Boers, are you?” said Turner, when he had heard how Jack had been employing his time. “Well, I dare say you fellows up there know more about affairs than we do here; but there are going to be ructions, awful ructions, I feel sure, and if I were you I should get ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”“Yes, everyone says the same, Turner,” replied Jack, “and from what I can understand, trouble is certain to follow. Some say it will lead to war, and others say it is likely to be merely a kind of storm in a tea-cup. Whatever happens, though, I expect I shall stick to Johannesburg till the Hunters clear out I’ve thrown in my lot with theirs, and I couldn’t very well leave them, you know. Besides, I am not anxious to do so.“If matters come to a head before August, then I shall stay in the country and see the trouble through; if not, why, I suppose I shall have to go back to England and begin to cram for the army, a grind which I don’t fancy at all.”“Then the chances are you will be in the thick of it, Somerton, for by August there will either be war, or old Kruger will have knuckled under. I can tell you this, at any rate: the Boers have been arming for years, and if I were in your shoes I should certainly smuggle in some weapon, a revolver for choice. And mark my words, you’ll have need of it before long or I’m a Dutchman! Now what do you say to a spin round the town or down to the quays?“Joko! We want a couple of ‘rickshaws’. Bustle up and fetch them!”Jack and his friend were soon bowling along through the streets of Durban, and spent a pleasant afternoon together.On the following day Jack called on the agents again, and having come to an agreement with them, and arranged that the goods should be despatched by the train which left for Johannesburg the next morning, he sauntered through the town in the direction of his hotel.“I wonder whether Turner was right about that revolver!” he suddenly thought, a window full of sporting guns and rifles having caught his eye, and caused him to remember the conversation of the previous day. “If all these Boers are really arming it might come in very handy some day. Yes, I will buy one, with plenty of ammunition, and see whether I cannot hide it away where a pretty close search would not discover it.”To make up his mind was to act, and within a few minutes Jack was in the gun-shop.“I want a revolver of some sort,” he said. “Something which would be useful, and at the same time not too big and heavy.”“Then you couldn’t do better than take one of these Mausers,” the owner of the shop, an Englishman, replied. “They lie much flatter than a revolver, are not given to jamming, and fire ten shots in rapid succession. Come in here, sir, and try one. I have a range specially fitted up.”Jack followed the man into a big shed behind, and here, for an hour, he practised with various pistole, finally deciding upon a Mauser.“There will be a run on that weapon soon, sir,” remarked the shopman knowingly, “and if all is true that one hears, or indeed only half one hears, the Boers have been buying a heap of them.”“Yes, I’ve heard that too,” replied Jack, “and also that they take precious good care that none of the Uitlanders get hold of any.”“That’s so, sir; but still, I dare say there are many of our countrymen who have managed to smuggle in arms. That Mauser you’ve bought could be easily managed if fixed with a good deal of padding beneath the arm.”“Ah, I dare say!” Jack answered casually, and then left the shop.“That was a good idea,” he thought, as he walked back to the hotel, “and I’ll just see how I can manage it.”Arrived at the hotel, he first begged a reel of cotton, a needle, and a small piece of dark serge from the manageress, and then retired to his room. He was wearing a navy-blue suit at the time, and whipping the coat off, he first fitted the Mauser pistol beneath the waistcoat, pushing the muzzle up till it rested in the right armpit.“Now, all I have to do is to open the seams down each side and let them out,” he murmured. “Then I will sew on a kind of inner pocket, and as soon as it is finished I must pad the waistcoat all round with cotton-wool. It will make it awfully hot, and I dare say I shall make rather a muddle of it, as I never was very grand at sewing. Still, it’s got to be done, and after all, what does it matter how neat the stitching is?”It took a good two hours to let out the seams and add the pocket, but at last that part was completed, and he sallied out to buy some cotton-wool.Then he placed the wooden holster of the Mauser in the pocket, and arranged the wool on either side of it and between it and the waistcoat, securing it by cross stitches. An hour later the other side was similarly padded, and he tried the waistcoat on.The cotton-wool he found had certainly made all the difference. Both sides beneath his arms were well rounded off, and it would require a good deal more than a casual glance to detect that matters were not as they were meant to be. Then he put on the coat, buttoned it up, and, standing in front of the glass, practised drawing the weapon.It was wonderful how quickly he could change himself from an unarmed English youth to one with a deadly Mauser, with ten bullets between himself and disaster. To thrust his hand beneath his coat, touch the spring, and unbutton the flap of his hidden pocket was the work of only a moment, and an instant later the pistol had by its own weight slipped out, and the butt was in his grasp, while the holster remained in its old position ready to conceal the weapon again.Jack practised diligently with and then without the glass, and finally, feeling satisfied that he was now prepared in case of accidents, donned his hat and went out for a walk.No one suspected him, or looked after him as though they had noticed that he was carrying hidden arms, and even Turner, when he accidentally ran across him, not only failed to perceive that Jack had something beneath his arm, but once more dilated on the possibilities of trouble in the future, and urged him to buy some weapon before returning to Johannesburg.“You’d better do as I say, old chap,” he said persuasively. “Those Boers are bad ’uns to deal with at any time, but when they are armed and you are not—and they know it too—well, it’s apt to go hard with the poor Uitlander.”“Ah, well, I fancy I’ll take my chance, or perhaps get a revolver next time I come south to Durban!” answered Jack with a quiet smile. “You see, from all accounts they are awfully suspicious fellows, and no one can pass into the Transvaal with so much as a cartridge; at least, that’s what I have been told.”“Yes, Somerton, there is that difficulty about it,” Turner answered, wrinkling his forehead. “Well, I shouldn’t think that any Boer would be ass enough to search you. You don’t look the sort of fellow to smuggle arms; in fact, if you’ll excuse my saying it, old chap, you’re about the most innocent-looking and harmless young Englishman of my acquaintance. But I must be going now. So long, old horse, and mind you, if you think of that revolver, or want anything sent up to Johnny’s Burg, drop me a line, and I’ll get it forwarded to you somehow or other.”The two young fellows shook hands, nodded, and went their different ways, Jack to various shops to carry out sundry small commissions with which Mrs Hunter had entrusted him, and Fred Turner to his office.On the following morning Jack was whirled to the station on a rickshaw, and, leaping to the ground, paid the Zulu “boy”, who, as a matter of fact, was a fine, big, strapping man of about thirty-five, with a long scar down the side of his face, evidently the result of some old assagai stab, but which, curiously enough, served only to make a naturally jovial expression all the more pronounced.Then he carried his bag, which contained all his purchases, to the train, and placed it on the seat he intended to occupy.He had arrived a good ten minutes before the time announced for the departure of the Pretoria and Johannesburg express, and employed it in walking up to the engine, which he admired as a very fine specimen of machinery. Then he strolled back along the platform, dodging the passengers, who had now commenced to arrive in large numbers, and finally reached the end of the train. It was rather longer than usual, he noticed, and curiously enough, tacked on to the back of the guard’s van there were six trucks open and one closed, five of the former filled with an assortment of wooden cases labelled “Sugar”, while the sixth was loaded with a consignment of finely-broken coal.Having satisfied his curiosity, he returned to his carriage, first ascertaining that the leather goods he had bought for Mr Hunter were on board the train and duly labelled.Soon the last of the passengers came tearing across to the train, ticket in mouth and a heavy bag in each hand, and he had barely flung open a door and sprung in before the engine gave a loud grunt and they were off.It was a long run up to the tip of Natal, and the latter part of it somewhat slow and tedious, in spite of occasional snatches of lovely scenery; but at last they reached Newcastle, and pulled up in the station.“Twenty minutes’ wait here, sir,” said the guard, putting his head in through the window. “You can get something to eat on the platform if you like.”Jack jumped out at once, bought a bag of buns, and drank a glass of milk. Then he walked out of the station and into the town, thinking he would like to have a glimpse of it. But it was getting dusk, and lights were already appearing. Still, he went for some distance, forgetful of the fact that the minutes were rapidly flying, and that the moment for the departure of his train was getting very close.Suddenly he looked at his watch, and found with a start that in three minutes it would leave. Darting through the street, he ran towards the station at his fastest pace, only to find, when he reached it, that the outside door was closed and to hear the guard’s whistle sounding.It was an awkward dilemma, but Jack was not to be beaten. Running along towards the front part of the platform, he climbed some rails, crossed a siding full of coal wagons, between which he dived, and rushed up the incline on to the platform only to see the train steaming off. More than half the carriages had already passed him, and the first of the trucks at the tail of the train was abreast of him.Jack determined not to be beaten, and, calmly judging the time, he grasped the hand-rail in the centre of the last van of all, and swung himself on to the narrow step which was secured along the side. Next moment he was carried on into the darkness without a soul having seen him join the train.“Well, I caught it after all!” he murmured to himself with an exclamation of satisfaction; “but I shall never be able to hold on here for long. Besides, there’s no saying when I may be jerked off, or smashed against a signal-post. There’s a door along there, and I’ll see whether I cannot open it and get into the van.”Climbing along the footboard, with his body held as close against the van as possible, he was not long in reaching the door and in wrenching it open. The rest was easy, and in a few moments he was safely inside, with the door closed.To his surprise he found that there was a dim oil-lamp burning at the end, not that he could see it very well, for a wall of small cases was built between him and it. But, by climbing on to this and peeping over, he was able to see that it was a small lantern slung from the roof, and swinging backwards and forwards and from side to side as the van jerked.But what was, perhaps, more surprising than all, was to find four men seated on as many boxes in the space that was walled off, playing a game of cards. They were typical Boers; that is to say, three of them were big, bearded men dressed in rough suits and felt hats, whilst the fourth was none other than Piet Maartens, more carefully clothed than his companions, and with a clean-shaven and evil-looking face. Close beside each man was a Mauser rifle and a bandolier full of cartridges.“Whew!” whistled Jack under his breath, climbing stealthily down. “What are those men doing here, and armed too! What does it mean, I wonder?”For a few moments he sat on the floor puzzling his brains, and then a suspicion that he had accidentally made a discovery dawned upon him.“They’re up to no good, those fellows,” he said to himself, “and it looks very much as though they were in charge of this van-load of boxes. I wonder what’s inside them! Let me see. They’re labelled ‘Grapes—to be kept cool’, and are addressed to President Kruger himself.”Having inspected the outside of the cases, Jack’s suspicions led him to test the weight of one of them, for, like every other Uitlander, he had heard that quantities of ammunition and arms were being secretly imported by the Boers.“Phew!” he muttered, hurriedly putting it back in its place. “Not grapes, but Mauser cartridges, I’ll be bound. It’s twenty times as heavy as a case of grapes would be.”There was no doubt now that Jack had hit upon something more than curious, and, having discovered a van loaded presumably with grapes but undoubtedly with Mauser cartridges, and in charge of a party of Boers whilst still in an English colony, his curiosity led him to persevere and probe the matter thoroughly.“I’ll just see what is at this end now,” he thought, “and if I find the same I shall certainly get out of this as soon as possible. Those fellows would have no hesitation in shooting me to ensure my keeping a silent tongue; and Piet Maartens would certainly help them to get rid of me.”Jack now crept across the narrow space which had been left opposite the doors of the van, and inspected the end nearest the engine. It, too, was apparently full of cases of grapes, but on climbing along on the top—for the boxes were here several tiers in thickness—he came to another large space left in the centre of them, and on lowering himself into it and feeling about with his hands, discovered no fewer than three Maxim guns jammed close together, whilst beneath them, packed loosely in straw, were piles on piles of rifles, undoubtedly of the Mauser pattern, as he could tell to a certainty by the shape of the breech-lock. Here was a position for a young lad to find himself in! By the merest accident he had managed to get into an extremely dangerous situation, and common sense advised him to quit it at once.Stealthily climbing out of the hiding-place again, he waited till a sudden roar, as the train ran over a small culvert, gave him an opportunity to open the door and slip out of the van.Clinging to the rail, he made his way along the footboard, stretched across to the truck in front, and soon had the satisfaction of finding himself sitting on top of a truck-load of fine coal.But Jack’s surprises were not ended by any means, for as he went on all-fours to creep into a safer position, there was a sudden tearing sound, and one leg went deep down through the coal, to be followed instantly by the other. Next moment he was standing on the wooden flooring of the truck, with a layer of coal round his middle, while, strangely enough, his legs were quite free to move about.Jack was as sharp as most lads of his age, and though he could not exactly see through a brick wall, he could certainly, now that suspicion had sharpened his wits, get to the bottom of this new discovery.With the greatest care he swept the coal aside till he came to a tarpaulin some five inches beneath it, which was evidently stretched across the truck. Through this he had already forced a hole, and he had soon completely disappeared beneath it, and, nothing daunted by the novelty or danger of the situation, had begun to grope about in the dark. From end to end of the truck he crawled, going over every inch of the space, and when his inspection was finished he had counted two more big guns of some description, besides a vast number of Mauser rifles.“Ah, this is really serious!” he muttered gravely to himself. “A van-load of grapes, which are really cartridges, for President Kruger, and a truck-load of coal, hiding no end of guns, not to mention those hidden by the cases of grapes. And I suppose the other trucks in front are just the same. I wonder now where they are going to! I’d very much like to find out; but just now, if I want to see the Hunters again, I had better get back to my own carriage.”Jack popped up through the hole again, and was on the point of moving along the top of the coal when, with a shriek and a deafening roar the train dived into the long tunnel which connects Natal and the Transvaal. To attempt to move now would have been to run the chance of having his brains knocked out against the arch above, for the coal-van was one with sides of sheet-iron, built very much higher than those usually seen on our English railways. He therefore lay down flat upon the thin layer of coal, taking good care to spread his weight over as much surface as possible. Five minutes later the train emerged from the tunnel and rushed out into the open. Once more Jack crawled to the side of the truck, and having worked his way to the foremost end of it, clambered over on to the buffer, and from there on to the next truck.“Now I shall be able to get along far more quickly,” he thought. “But first of all I will try the weight of one of these cases labelled ‘Sugar’. Ah, I thought as much! this one is so heavy that I can scarcely lift it.”Stumbling along on top of the cases, he tried first one and then another, till he was convinced that here again he had hit upon a large consignment of war material of some sort. For if it was not ammunition, or something of that nature, what could it be? And why should the cases be labelled ‘Sugar’? Obviously it was extremely likely that all the trucks were loaded with war material, for otherwise why the secrecy and incorrect labelling?Satisfied that he had discovered a secret of the Boers, Jack scrambled from truck to truck on his way back to his carriage.It was by no means easy work, for the train was now rushing along at a rapid pace, swaying from side to side and necessitating great caution, especially when he was stretching across the space which separated the trucks.However, by dint of due caution he at last reached the foremost truck, and was on the point of lowering himself on to the buffers when his hand struck against a cord which seemed to run from end to end over the middle of the wooden cases. He ran his fingers along it, and was wondering what it could be, when the flash of a light from the open veldt at the side of the line caught his eye. A second later it had been left behind, but the rope in his hand jerked and then stretched tight, as though the flash had been a signal and someone were pulling.At that moment the train was rushing downhill, and the brakes were applied to steady it. The grinding roar, and the sparks as they gripped the wheels, attracted Jack’s attention, while the tension on the cord in his hand became instantly greater. Then there was a succession of loud bangs and heavy jolts as the buffers of the carriages and trucks came together. Before Jack could so much as guess at the meaning of it all, the cord became suddenly slack, the brakes were clapped on to the wheels of the trucks, almost throwing him over the front with the jerk they caused, and the Johannesburg express was racing away from him into the darkness. For five minutes the trucks followed in the wake of the express, their pace getting every moment less. Then there was a clank and a jar, and they swerved from the main track through a siding behind a station, which was totally unlighted, and on beneath some overhanging trees, and out on to the veldt once more. A couple of hundred yards farther on a big hill loomed up directly in front of them, a large shed appeared in sight, and within five minutes the trucks had run beneath it and on a little way into the hill. Then the brakes bit the steel rims harder, and the whole came to a stop.Jack had not wasted his time meanwhile. Feeling sure that he had accidentally got into a very dangerous corner, he crouched low upon the cases, and the instant the trucks pulled up, jumped over the side and darted underneath.“Wie gaat daar?” (who goes there?) he heard someone exclaim, and a big Boer, with an iron-grey beard, appeared, carrying a lantern.“We are Uitlanders and have brought you a present,” a voice shouted, and then there was a loud chorus of laughter.Jack thrust his head out from beneath the truck and looked round. As far as he could ascertain from a hasty glance the trucks had come to a standstill in a large vaulted stone chamber, along the sides of which numerous guns of all sizes were packed, while behind them was a solid wall of boxes, similar to those in the truck above his head labelled “Sugar.”As he looked out, the four men, including Piet Maartens, who had ridden in the van from Durban, stepped down to the ground, and it was one of these, a short stumpy little German, whom he knew well by sight, having seen him frequently in the streets of Johannesburg, who had made the brilliant joke at which his comrades had laughed. Evidently he was more proficient in the English tongue than in the difficult and uncouth language of which the Boer boasts, and as most of the latter who live in the Transvaal towns can speak English more or less perfectly, the conversation which followed was carried on so as to be perfectly intelligible to Jack.“Well, Hans,” the big man who had first spoken said, addressing the German, “so you have brought Oom Paul’s groceries through quite safely, and without raising the suspicions of those English fools. Ha, ha! ‘Grapes, to be kept cool.’ Tis a fine idea. But it would never do if others than our own men handled them. They are too heavy, my friends, too heavy by far, and so also is the sugar of which his honour is buying such a large amount. It just shows what fools there are in the world, and what money, liberally spent, can do.”“True, Oom Schalk,” the German answered, with a chuckle, “there are some fools indeed, as you say, and also there are wise men. Oom Paul is the wise man of this land, and he is slim—ah! so slim that no one has yet got the better of him. It was by his order that all this stuff here came through openly, and labelled as it is. It is just the fact that we make no attempt to hide it that ensures its reaching us in safety. Ah, those English! Well, a time is coming, Oom, when we shall teach them something. Bah! How I hate them! The very sight of one makes me ill.”“Well, well,” Oom Schalk said with a smile, “you shall have a chance to pay them out, my friend. But now, let us see that all the trucks are right, and then we can leave them till the morning.”Holding the lantern well above his head, and followed by his four comrades, the big Boer looked into the covered van, and then walked along by the side of the trucks, climbing up and inspecting the contents of each.Now was Jack’s chance to get away, and he took it at once. Scrambling along on the concrete with which the vault was paved, he slowly passed beneath the trucks till he reached the end of the van. Peeping out to make sure that there was no one about, he stole along in the darkness, and soon was out of the vault and in a large shed built against the opening.There seemed to be no one near, and the only sound was the grating of the feet of those behind him and the faint hum of their voices.Standing up, he listened for a few moments, and, hearing nothing suspicious, ran across the shed towards the door. It was standing wide open, and at the sight he almost gave a cry of joy. In a moment he was close to it, and was on the point of rushing through when a strong arm clutched him by the collar, while the cold muzzle of a weapon was thrust into his ear.It was a terrible shock, and set Jack’s heart throbbing fiercely. But he had the presence of mind to keep perfectly still, for that cold touch at his ear told him better than so many words that the slightest movement would mean his certain death.A moment later someone else had grasped him on the other side, and he was marched back into the vault, and dragged before Oom Schalk and his companions.“What is the matter?” the Boer demanded, placing his lantern close to Jack’s face, and scrutinising his features closely. “Why, he is not one of ours! He is a spy!”“I cannot say who he is or how he came here, Oom,” the man who had captured Jack replied; “but as I stood by the door with Van Zyl and watched you as you walked along the trucks, I suddenly caught sight of someone creeping across the vault. His head passed between me and your lantern, and I saw at once that he was not one of you. So we waited here silently in the dark, and caught him as he was about to run through the door.”“Who are you, boy?” Oom Schalk demanded fiercely, staring at Jack’s face.“He’s English. He’s one of the hated Uitlanders!” shouted Piet Maartens, recognising Jack at this moment. “His name is Somerton, and I tell you, Oom, young though he is, he is as much our enemy as any. He is a spy, and has been sent by Hunter, or probably by the British consul, to watch our movements, so that news may be sent to the English Government.”“A spy, a spy!” shrieked Hans, his fat face becoming livid with fear and rage. “He has seen all, and will betray us, this hated Englishman! Shoot him, Oom, shoot him! No one will know.”“I am not a spy, and I came here because I could not help myself,” Jack answered defiantly. “I was late for the train at Newcastle, and only just managed to climb on one of these trucks. Before I could get back to the carnages they were gone, and I was being carried down here. Then, when I found none of my own countrymen with you I naturally tried to get away without being seen.”“And you were not sent by anyone to spy on us?” asked Oom Schalk a little less sternly. “Answer me truly, for if you tell me a lie, as there is a heaven above I will shoot you, so that no one shall ever know what has become of you.”“I am telling you the truth,” Jack answered stubbornly. “I can say no more. If you shoot me, you will be committing a foul murder, and will some day regret it bitterly.”“Don’t believe him, Oom! Don’t believe the dog!” cried Piet Maartens savagely, scowling angrily at Jack. “He lies. I can see it on his face. He is a spy, and we must shoot him.”“Yes, shoot him, shoot him!” chimed in the German. “What does it matter one proud Englishman more or less?”“Softly, softly, Hans Schloss and Piet Maartens,” exclaimed Oom Schalk. “We need not hurry about this matter. The lad is young—no older than my own son—and I will not kill him yet. Wait till to-morrow, and we will learn more about him. All Englishmen are hateful, but I will not take the life of a single one of them unless there be good cause. Remember, my friends, there is but one God above us, and He will judge us for our acts. If this lad is guilty of spying he shall die, but in proper form, for I will not have him murdered. But he has a truthful face, and I am inclined to believe his story, for who would be such a fool, even amongst these Uitlanders, as to spy upon us here? No, no. It is unlikely, and we will wait till to-morrow to learn more about him, and sift the matter properly.”“Bah! You have too soft a heart, Oom Schalk,” Hans Schloss shouted. “I say, let us end his spying at once, for if you wait he will manage to escape from us.”“Wait, wait!” exclaimed Oom Schalk, with some show of temper. “You would not be so ready for me to carry out the sentence if you were in his place. To-morrow we will see about the matter, and meanwhile I place the prisoner in your hands. You will be responsible for him, and see that no harm comes to him, or I will show you that Oom Schalk has a stony heart at times.”The big Boer nodded to Jack, and stalked out of the vault.For a few moments Jack faced unflinchingly the six men who remained, wondering whether, now that their commandant had gone, they would shoot him or injure him in any way. But with a few muttered oaths and sneering remarks as to what would happen to him on the morrow, they turned away, Piet Maartens giving orders that he should be bound with a rope.Five minutes later Jack was tied hand and foot, and placed upon the concrete flooring with his back resting against a wheel of one of the trucks. From here he watched his captors, who had retired into the shed. Placing their lanterns on the ground, they wrapped themselves in blankets, and, leaving one of their number seated on a stool, threw themselves down to sleep.“I’m in a nasty hole,” thought Jack, “a very awkward fix indeed. If it had not been for Oom Schalk those brutes would certainly have shot me; and I’m not at all sure that they won’t do so after all, for there is no one to prove that I am telling the truth. Even if they don’t harm me, they are bound to get rid of me, for they can never allow me to remain in the Transvaal after this. Well, I must get away somehow.”For half an hour he sat quietly thinking, with his eyes fixed upon the lanterns and upon the figure sitting close to them. The Boer had lit his pipe, but it constantly went out, and he as constantly lifted a lantern to get a light again. Then he put it on the ground, folded his arms, and stared about him. Soon his head drooped, and nodded gently, then his chin went down on his chest with a jerk, and he sat upright again, shrugged his burly shoulders, yawned, and looked about him. Jack watched him with deep interest, and soon saw that he had fallen asleep.Now was his time, and noiselessly bringing his heels close beneath him, he gave his body a jerk forward by pressing against the truck with the back of his head, and in another moment was standing on his feet.He was still helpless, for he was firmly bound, with his hands behind his back. But he had not been racking his brains all this time for nothing. He remembered that at Durban he had noticed that the corners of the iron trucks were not turned over, but bolted to angle-irons inside, leaving a more or less rough surface at the edge. It was a small matter, but he had noticed it just as one does take note of trivial points, and he now determined to put it to a good purpose. Inch by inch he shuffled along till he reached the corner of the truck against which he had been placed, then he leant against it, and commenced to rub the cords which bound his wrists up and down the roughened edge.It was difficult work, but he clenched his teeth and put all his strength into it. After more than half an hour’s nibbing the cord was cut through and his hands were free. To release his legs was now a simple matter, and in a few minutes he was standing close to the truck, with his boots off, and slung across his shoulders by the laces. Then he undid his secret pocket, pressed the spring, and gripped the butt of his Mauser pistol.At this moment there was a sound from the shed, and on looking in that direction Jack noticed that the sleepy sentry was half-awake once more, and was making a desperate effort to stand upon his feet. He yawned several times, shook himself, rubbed his eyes, and then suddenly turned and looked towards the trucks.But Jack had expected such a movement, and when the sentry turned, the dim light showed him the prisoner still seated in the same position. Once more his head nodded, and within a few minutes he had dozed off again.In a moment Jack was on his feet, and was darting across the concrete. A few seconds took him into the hut, and in another moment he was at the door. There was no lock, but it was bolted top and bottom.He at once commenced to draw the bolts back, and had almost succeeded in opening the door when the sentry woke at the noise, saw his prisoner escaping, and shouted at the top of his voice.“Stand!” cried Jack sternly, pointing his pistol at the man, as he was in the act of leaning over to reach his rifle.Quick as lightning he pulled back the last bolt and flung the door open, covering the six men in front of him all the time. Three of these still lay on the ground in their blankets, half-sitting up on their elbows, and as yet scarcely understanding what had happened. Piet Maartens, however, and Hans Schloss the German, had at once jumped to their feet, and as Jack was turning to fly the latter stooped and picked up his rifle. Before he could bring it to his shoulder there was a sharp report, Jack’s weapon flashed vengefully, and the fat little German fell with a scream on the floor, with a Mauser bullet through the calf of his leg. Next moment Jack had darted through the doorway, banged the door to, and hurled a wheel-barrow, which happened to be just outside, across it. Then he turned sharp to the right and ran round the corner of the shed, for common sense told him that to attempt an escape across the open veldt which stretched away in front would be to run the almost certain risk of capture.As it was, he crouched round the corner of the shed, and, Mauser in hand, watched to see what would happen next.From the inside he could still hear a succession of piercing shrieks uttered by Hans Schloss, but these were quickly drowned by angry shouts and oaths. There was a loud shuffling of feet, and a moment later the door through which he had just escaped was flung open with a bang, and all the Boers rushed out pell-mell, leaving the German to his own devices.But the wheel-barrow was yet to be a lesson to them, to teach them that even an English lad must be reckoned with at times. They were all men who had been used to sneering at the “Rooineks” (English) from the time when they were boys, when their fathers had detailed to them how some thousands of Boers had lain in ambush behind the stones on Laing’s Nek, and had destroyed a handful of British soldiers exposed out in the open. But here was a mere lad who had dared to spy upon their movements, and who, after capture, had listened bravely and calmly to the speedy death proposed for him. He had not even whined, or begged for mercy, but had as good as defied them. And now, to add to it all, he had in some manner, totally inexplicable to themselves, severed his bonds and escaped from the vault, wounding one of their number in the process; and had laid, as a kind of parting shot, a trap for them all, which brought the five men suddenly and with a violent crash to the ground, sending their rifles flying in all directions.It was a bitter lesson, and goaded them to madness. With muttered curses and fierce shouts of rage they leapt to their feet, and, without pausing to think, rushed out into the open veldt, where the sharp reports from their rifles showed that they were firing at imaginary objects which they took to be the fugitive.Had Jack wished it he could have planted more than one of the bullets from his pistol in the bodies of the Boers as they lay on the ground in the full glare of the lamps from the inside of the shed, but as yet he was by no means proficient with his weapon, and besides, he had no wish to take the life of any one of them, or to injure them in the slightest. All he aimed at was to make good his escape, and no sooner were they out of sight than he darted back towards the steep kopje in the side of which the vault was evidently constructed, and climbed up it, taking care to stoop low, and dodge from boulder to boulder. Soon he was at the top, and here, sheltered behind a breastwork of rock, he stopped and listened.He could still hear shouting down on the veldt below, and an occasional rifle shot, but these soon ceased, and about half an hour later the five Boers returned and entered the shed, the light from the lamps throwing their figures into strong relief.“Ah, now I can make a move!” thought Jack, “and the sooner I get away from here the better. After what has happened those fellows would shoot me if they got hold of me.”At this moment he suddenly remembered that at Newcastle he had stowed his bag of buns away in his pocket. Pulling it out, he finished what was left, for he had an excellent appetite which no amount of adventure could disturb. Then, feeling better, he picked his way down the opposite side of the hill, and, having made a wide détour, turned towards the railway, and walked on till he came to it. Then he trudged along by the side of the metals, and in due course reached a small station midway between Volksrust and Standerton.There was no one about, but the night was beautifully warm, and Jack therefore lay down on the veldt outside the station. Early next morning he walked on to the platform and knocked at the station-master’s door.“Hallo! Who are you?” the latter asked in sleepy surprise, appearing in a half-dressed state, which showed that he had only just got out of bed.“Oh, I’m one of the English from Johnny’s Burg!” Jack answered easily. “I’ve been staying with some people this way, and started last night to catch the train. But you people don’t trouble about sign-posts in these parts, and so I lost my way. Instead of finding my road to Standerton I got out of my reckoning and came down here, where I’ve spent the last few hours asleep on the veldt. Can you give me something to eat?”“It’s a precious funny story,” the station-master, who was a Cape Dutchman, grumbled in reply. “But, then, you Englishmen, fresh from home, do all manner of strange things. Come in, and we’ll see what the Tanta has for you. But mind, I can’t afford to give you a meal; you must pay for it.”Jack readily agreed, and ate ravenously when at last a dish of smoking biltong was placed before him, for his long march across the veldt had given him a keen appetite again, which his sleep in the open had in no way diminished. Big cups of smoking coffee were also provided, so that altogether he fared very well.Then he lit a cigarette, paid the amount demanded, and went outside on to the platform, where he and the Dutch station-master walked up and down in friendly converse till the train for Johannesburg arrived.Four and a half hours later he stepped on to the platform at the big mining city, the Golden City of South Africa, and walked to Mr Hunter’s store.“Back again, Jack! Why, we did not expect you till to-morrow morning!” exclaimed Mr Hunter, shaking him by the hand. “Your bag and the leather goods turned up early this morning, and as you didn’t arrive we naturally thought you had decided to stay a day longer and would return by to-night’s mail.”“No; I ought to have been back early this morning with the baggage, Mr Hunter,” Jack answered; “but as it was, I was delayed just on this side of the Transvaal border, and have had to come on by a local train. I’m afraid it’s likely to be rather a serious matter, and as soon as possible I should like you to give me some advice.”“My dear Jack, whatever are you talking about?” exclaimed Mr Hunter in astonishment. “Was there an accident at Volksrust? But no, I know there was not, for I went to meet the train this morning. Whatever made you break your journey? You have no friends in that part of the country that I have heard of.”“I’ll tell you all about it if you’ll come out on the verandah, Mr Hunter,” Jack answered. “I’ve been on my legs, tramping over the veldt, all night, and I’m feeling a bit done-up and tired. Let us get a couple of chairs out there, and then you can hear all I’ve got to tell.”A few minutes later Wilfred joined them, and the three settled themselves comfortably on the verandah, where Tom Thumb, Mr Hunter’s Zulu “boy”, who was the biggest native ever seen in Johannesburg, supplied them with long glasses of deliciously cold lemon-squash.

“Jack, how would you like to carry out a little piece of business for me?” asked Mr Hunter one morning, extracting a letter from a big bundle which he held in his hand.

“I have just had this offer of leather goods from the agents in Durban, with whom I am in the habit of dealing. In spite of war scares, and the fear that we should have to leave the country suddenly, shoals of new-comers constantly reach us, and such articles as bags and trunks are always in demand by those who are forced to travel from town to town. Saddlery, bits, and reins are also easily disposed of. This would be a good opportunity for you to make a run down to Durban. You have never been there, and you could inspect these goods between the hours when you will be looking round the town.

“There is a list of the articles that have just been shipped over from England, and you will notice that against the prices quoted I have ticked down the amount usually asked for here. If the goods are of first-rate quality, you may close with the agents at once.”

“Thanks! It’s very good of you, and I’d like to go immensely, Mr Hunter,” Jack answered. “How many of each of these items am I to buy? I see you have not stated that.”

“Well, I imagine it is a big consignment, Jack, and I believe by buying now I shall be able to sell all at a large profit, for I think there is likely to be an unprecedented demand very shortly. So I shall leave it to your discretion to buy as many as you think reasonable. Here is a signed cheque. Of course you will get something taken off for a large order, and the terms I shall also leave to you. You have already shown you possess a business head, and I can therefore rely upon your carrying the arrangements out satisfactorily. Fill in the cheque and hand it over when you have settled the matter. To-day is Saturday. You had better start on Monday morning, and I shall expect you back on the Thursday or Friday following.”

Jack was delighted at the confidence placed in him, and set off on the Monday morning in the highest spirits. He purchased a return ticket, shook hands with Wilfred—who would have liked to accompany him, but had to remain behind, as his father was going to Kimberley for a few days,—and jumped into a luxuriously-furnished carriage.

It was a long and monotonous journey to Durban. Many of the towns they passed through, however, bore names which only a few months later were to be in the mouths of all Englishmen, in fact of the whole of the civilised world.

Running south towards the Orange Free State border, the railway curved towards the south-east, passing in succession Heidelberg, Standerton, and Volksrust. Then, with a loud and piercing shriek from the engine whistle, the train dived into a long, dark tunnel in the Drakenberg range of mountains, and emerged into Natal, one of England’s most loyal colonies. Sweeping past Laing’s Nek and Majuba Hill, names which will ever cause our countrymen to grit their teeth with vexation and regret, the train passed through a mountainous and extremely rugged country, and finally pulled up at Newcastle, one of the towns where the opening scenes of the second Boer war were to be laid. Then, after a ten-minute wait, the guard’s whistle sounded, and they steamed on past Glencoe and Dundee, and, swerving to the right away from the neighbourhood of Rorke’s Drift (that little mission station on the banks of the deep, swift-flowing Buffalo River, where a mere handful of English soldiers kept at bay the flower of Cetewayo’s army of fierce Zulus), they ran through Elands Laagte and Reitfontein, and drew up once more, at Ladysmith. On proceeding, the train ran down to the river Tugela, skirted its western bank, and thundered across the bridge, and on past Chieveley and Frere to Estcourt, stopping only when it had run into the station at Pietermaritzburg. From there to Durban was only a short spin, and very soon Jack had arrived, and had been whirled to his hotel on a “rickshaw” drawn by a strapping Kafir.

On the following day he called on the agents, and inspected the leather goods he had been commissioned to buy; and having decided how many to take, and offered a certain sum down for the articles he required, he left the warehouses, promising to call at the same hour next day and hear whether they would accept it or not.

Then he took a “rickshaw” a little way out of the town, and called upon a young fellow who had sailed out from England with him.

“What! Somerton! The fellow with a groggy leg whom the ladies on board took so much care of!” the latter exclaimed, shaking Jack cordially by the hand, and forcing him into a chair on the shady verandah on which the two lads had met.

“Boy! Joko! Do you hear?” he shouted. “Look lively! I’m on the verandah.”

“Coming, Baas! coming!” sounded away from the opposite side of the house, from which a Kafir appeared a moment later, in a desperate hurry to obey his master.

“Now, Somerton,” said Jack’s jovial friend, whose name was Turner, “join me in a lemon-squash and a cigarette. It’s a funny combination, but I find it agrees with me, and I’m sure it’s far better for one than drinking spirits as many fellows do.”

Jack gladly agreed to do so, and soon they were lolling back out of the heat of the sun, puffing their cigarettes, for that was a habit which Jack had already learnt to appreciate, and chatting about their respective doings for the past few months.

“So you’re up in the Transvaal with Mr Hunter, and under the eyes of the Boers, are you?” said Turner, when he had heard how Jack had been employing his time. “Well, I dare say you fellows up there know more about affairs than we do here; but there are going to be ructions, awful ructions, I feel sure, and if I were you I should get ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, everyone says the same, Turner,” replied Jack, “and from what I can understand, trouble is certain to follow. Some say it will lead to war, and others say it is likely to be merely a kind of storm in a tea-cup. Whatever happens, though, I expect I shall stick to Johannesburg till the Hunters clear out I’ve thrown in my lot with theirs, and I couldn’t very well leave them, you know. Besides, I am not anxious to do so.

“If matters come to a head before August, then I shall stay in the country and see the trouble through; if not, why, I suppose I shall have to go back to England and begin to cram for the army, a grind which I don’t fancy at all.”

“Then the chances are you will be in the thick of it, Somerton, for by August there will either be war, or old Kruger will have knuckled under. I can tell you this, at any rate: the Boers have been arming for years, and if I were in your shoes I should certainly smuggle in some weapon, a revolver for choice. And mark my words, you’ll have need of it before long or I’m a Dutchman! Now what do you say to a spin round the town or down to the quays?

“Joko! We want a couple of ‘rickshaws’. Bustle up and fetch them!”

Jack and his friend were soon bowling along through the streets of Durban, and spent a pleasant afternoon together.

On the following day Jack called on the agents again, and having come to an agreement with them, and arranged that the goods should be despatched by the train which left for Johannesburg the next morning, he sauntered through the town in the direction of his hotel.

“I wonder whether Turner was right about that revolver!” he suddenly thought, a window full of sporting guns and rifles having caught his eye, and caused him to remember the conversation of the previous day. “If all these Boers are really arming it might come in very handy some day. Yes, I will buy one, with plenty of ammunition, and see whether I cannot hide it away where a pretty close search would not discover it.”

To make up his mind was to act, and within a few minutes Jack was in the gun-shop.

“I want a revolver of some sort,” he said. “Something which would be useful, and at the same time not too big and heavy.”

“Then you couldn’t do better than take one of these Mausers,” the owner of the shop, an Englishman, replied. “They lie much flatter than a revolver, are not given to jamming, and fire ten shots in rapid succession. Come in here, sir, and try one. I have a range specially fitted up.”

Jack followed the man into a big shed behind, and here, for an hour, he practised with various pistole, finally deciding upon a Mauser.

“There will be a run on that weapon soon, sir,” remarked the shopman knowingly, “and if all is true that one hears, or indeed only half one hears, the Boers have been buying a heap of them.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that too,” replied Jack, “and also that they take precious good care that none of the Uitlanders get hold of any.”

“That’s so, sir; but still, I dare say there are many of our countrymen who have managed to smuggle in arms. That Mauser you’ve bought could be easily managed if fixed with a good deal of padding beneath the arm.”

“Ah, I dare say!” Jack answered casually, and then left the shop.

“That was a good idea,” he thought, as he walked back to the hotel, “and I’ll just see how I can manage it.”

Arrived at the hotel, he first begged a reel of cotton, a needle, and a small piece of dark serge from the manageress, and then retired to his room. He was wearing a navy-blue suit at the time, and whipping the coat off, he first fitted the Mauser pistol beneath the waistcoat, pushing the muzzle up till it rested in the right armpit.

“Now, all I have to do is to open the seams down each side and let them out,” he murmured. “Then I will sew on a kind of inner pocket, and as soon as it is finished I must pad the waistcoat all round with cotton-wool. It will make it awfully hot, and I dare say I shall make rather a muddle of it, as I never was very grand at sewing. Still, it’s got to be done, and after all, what does it matter how neat the stitching is?”

It took a good two hours to let out the seams and add the pocket, but at last that part was completed, and he sallied out to buy some cotton-wool.

Then he placed the wooden holster of the Mauser in the pocket, and arranged the wool on either side of it and between it and the waistcoat, securing it by cross stitches. An hour later the other side was similarly padded, and he tried the waistcoat on.

The cotton-wool he found had certainly made all the difference. Both sides beneath his arms were well rounded off, and it would require a good deal more than a casual glance to detect that matters were not as they were meant to be. Then he put on the coat, buttoned it up, and, standing in front of the glass, practised drawing the weapon.

It was wonderful how quickly he could change himself from an unarmed English youth to one with a deadly Mauser, with ten bullets between himself and disaster. To thrust his hand beneath his coat, touch the spring, and unbutton the flap of his hidden pocket was the work of only a moment, and an instant later the pistol had by its own weight slipped out, and the butt was in his grasp, while the holster remained in its old position ready to conceal the weapon again.

Jack practised diligently with and then without the glass, and finally, feeling satisfied that he was now prepared in case of accidents, donned his hat and went out for a walk.

No one suspected him, or looked after him as though they had noticed that he was carrying hidden arms, and even Turner, when he accidentally ran across him, not only failed to perceive that Jack had something beneath his arm, but once more dilated on the possibilities of trouble in the future, and urged him to buy some weapon before returning to Johannesburg.

“You’d better do as I say, old chap,” he said persuasively. “Those Boers are bad ’uns to deal with at any time, but when they are armed and you are not—and they know it too—well, it’s apt to go hard with the poor Uitlander.”

“Ah, well, I fancy I’ll take my chance, or perhaps get a revolver next time I come south to Durban!” answered Jack with a quiet smile. “You see, from all accounts they are awfully suspicious fellows, and no one can pass into the Transvaal with so much as a cartridge; at least, that’s what I have been told.”

“Yes, Somerton, there is that difficulty about it,” Turner answered, wrinkling his forehead. “Well, I shouldn’t think that any Boer would be ass enough to search you. You don’t look the sort of fellow to smuggle arms; in fact, if you’ll excuse my saying it, old chap, you’re about the most innocent-looking and harmless young Englishman of my acquaintance. But I must be going now. So long, old horse, and mind you, if you think of that revolver, or want anything sent up to Johnny’s Burg, drop me a line, and I’ll get it forwarded to you somehow or other.”

The two young fellows shook hands, nodded, and went their different ways, Jack to various shops to carry out sundry small commissions with which Mrs Hunter had entrusted him, and Fred Turner to his office.

On the following morning Jack was whirled to the station on a rickshaw, and, leaping to the ground, paid the Zulu “boy”, who, as a matter of fact, was a fine, big, strapping man of about thirty-five, with a long scar down the side of his face, evidently the result of some old assagai stab, but which, curiously enough, served only to make a naturally jovial expression all the more pronounced.

Then he carried his bag, which contained all his purchases, to the train, and placed it on the seat he intended to occupy.

He had arrived a good ten minutes before the time announced for the departure of the Pretoria and Johannesburg express, and employed it in walking up to the engine, which he admired as a very fine specimen of machinery. Then he strolled back along the platform, dodging the passengers, who had now commenced to arrive in large numbers, and finally reached the end of the train. It was rather longer than usual, he noticed, and curiously enough, tacked on to the back of the guard’s van there were six trucks open and one closed, five of the former filled with an assortment of wooden cases labelled “Sugar”, while the sixth was loaded with a consignment of finely-broken coal.

Having satisfied his curiosity, he returned to his carriage, first ascertaining that the leather goods he had bought for Mr Hunter were on board the train and duly labelled.

Soon the last of the passengers came tearing across to the train, ticket in mouth and a heavy bag in each hand, and he had barely flung open a door and sprung in before the engine gave a loud grunt and they were off.

It was a long run up to the tip of Natal, and the latter part of it somewhat slow and tedious, in spite of occasional snatches of lovely scenery; but at last they reached Newcastle, and pulled up in the station.

“Twenty minutes’ wait here, sir,” said the guard, putting his head in through the window. “You can get something to eat on the platform if you like.”

Jack jumped out at once, bought a bag of buns, and drank a glass of milk. Then he walked out of the station and into the town, thinking he would like to have a glimpse of it. But it was getting dusk, and lights were already appearing. Still, he went for some distance, forgetful of the fact that the minutes were rapidly flying, and that the moment for the departure of his train was getting very close.

Suddenly he looked at his watch, and found with a start that in three minutes it would leave. Darting through the street, he ran towards the station at his fastest pace, only to find, when he reached it, that the outside door was closed and to hear the guard’s whistle sounding.

It was an awkward dilemma, but Jack was not to be beaten. Running along towards the front part of the platform, he climbed some rails, crossed a siding full of coal wagons, between which he dived, and rushed up the incline on to the platform only to see the train steaming off. More than half the carriages had already passed him, and the first of the trucks at the tail of the train was abreast of him.

Jack determined not to be beaten, and, calmly judging the time, he grasped the hand-rail in the centre of the last van of all, and swung himself on to the narrow step which was secured along the side. Next moment he was carried on into the darkness without a soul having seen him join the train.

“Well, I caught it after all!” he murmured to himself with an exclamation of satisfaction; “but I shall never be able to hold on here for long. Besides, there’s no saying when I may be jerked off, or smashed against a signal-post. There’s a door along there, and I’ll see whether I cannot open it and get into the van.”

Climbing along the footboard, with his body held as close against the van as possible, he was not long in reaching the door and in wrenching it open. The rest was easy, and in a few moments he was safely inside, with the door closed.

To his surprise he found that there was a dim oil-lamp burning at the end, not that he could see it very well, for a wall of small cases was built between him and it. But, by climbing on to this and peeping over, he was able to see that it was a small lantern slung from the roof, and swinging backwards and forwards and from side to side as the van jerked.

But what was, perhaps, more surprising than all, was to find four men seated on as many boxes in the space that was walled off, playing a game of cards. They were typical Boers; that is to say, three of them were big, bearded men dressed in rough suits and felt hats, whilst the fourth was none other than Piet Maartens, more carefully clothed than his companions, and with a clean-shaven and evil-looking face. Close beside each man was a Mauser rifle and a bandolier full of cartridges.

“Whew!” whistled Jack under his breath, climbing stealthily down. “What are those men doing here, and armed too! What does it mean, I wonder?”

For a few moments he sat on the floor puzzling his brains, and then a suspicion that he had accidentally made a discovery dawned upon him.

“They’re up to no good, those fellows,” he said to himself, “and it looks very much as though they were in charge of this van-load of boxes. I wonder what’s inside them! Let me see. They’re labelled ‘Grapes—to be kept cool’, and are addressed to President Kruger himself.”

Having inspected the outside of the cases, Jack’s suspicions led him to test the weight of one of them, for, like every other Uitlander, he had heard that quantities of ammunition and arms were being secretly imported by the Boers.

“Phew!” he muttered, hurriedly putting it back in its place. “Not grapes, but Mauser cartridges, I’ll be bound. It’s twenty times as heavy as a case of grapes would be.”

There was no doubt now that Jack had hit upon something more than curious, and, having discovered a van loaded presumably with grapes but undoubtedly with Mauser cartridges, and in charge of a party of Boers whilst still in an English colony, his curiosity led him to persevere and probe the matter thoroughly.

“I’ll just see what is at this end now,” he thought, “and if I find the same I shall certainly get out of this as soon as possible. Those fellows would have no hesitation in shooting me to ensure my keeping a silent tongue; and Piet Maartens would certainly help them to get rid of me.”

Jack now crept across the narrow space which had been left opposite the doors of the van, and inspected the end nearest the engine. It, too, was apparently full of cases of grapes, but on climbing along on the top—for the boxes were here several tiers in thickness—he came to another large space left in the centre of them, and on lowering himself into it and feeling about with his hands, discovered no fewer than three Maxim guns jammed close together, whilst beneath them, packed loosely in straw, were piles on piles of rifles, undoubtedly of the Mauser pattern, as he could tell to a certainty by the shape of the breech-lock. Here was a position for a young lad to find himself in! By the merest accident he had managed to get into an extremely dangerous situation, and common sense advised him to quit it at once.

Stealthily climbing out of the hiding-place again, he waited till a sudden roar, as the train ran over a small culvert, gave him an opportunity to open the door and slip out of the van.

Clinging to the rail, he made his way along the footboard, stretched across to the truck in front, and soon had the satisfaction of finding himself sitting on top of a truck-load of fine coal.

But Jack’s surprises were not ended by any means, for as he went on all-fours to creep into a safer position, there was a sudden tearing sound, and one leg went deep down through the coal, to be followed instantly by the other. Next moment he was standing on the wooden flooring of the truck, with a layer of coal round his middle, while, strangely enough, his legs were quite free to move about.

Jack was as sharp as most lads of his age, and though he could not exactly see through a brick wall, he could certainly, now that suspicion had sharpened his wits, get to the bottom of this new discovery.

With the greatest care he swept the coal aside till he came to a tarpaulin some five inches beneath it, which was evidently stretched across the truck. Through this he had already forced a hole, and he had soon completely disappeared beneath it, and, nothing daunted by the novelty or danger of the situation, had begun to grope about in the dark. From end to end of the truck he crawled, going over every inch of the space, and when his inspection was finished he had counted two more big guns of some description, besides a vast number of Mauser rifles.

“Ah, this is really serious!” he muttered gravely to himself. “A van-load of grapes, which are really cartridges, for President Kruger, and a truck-load of coal, hiding no end of guns, not to mention those hidden by the cases of grapes. And I suppose the other trucks in front are just the same. I wonder now where they are going to! I’d very much like to find out; but just now, if I want to see the Hunters again, I had better get back to my own carriage.”

Jack popped up through the hole again, and was on the point of moving along the top of the coal when, with a shriek and a deafening roar the train dived into the long tunnel which connects Natal and the Transvaal. To attempt to move now would have been to run the chance of having his brains knocked out against the arch above, for the coal-van was one with sides of sheet-iron, built very much higher than those usually seen on our English railways. He therefore lay down flat upon the thin layer of coal, taking good care to spread his weight over as much surface as possible. Five minutes later the train emerged from the tunnel and rushed out into the open. Once more Jack crawled to the side of the truck, and having worked his way to the foremost end of it, clambered over on to the buffer, and from there on to the next truck.

“Now I shall be able to get along far more quickly,” he thought. “But first of all I will try the weight of one of these cases labelled ‘Sugar’. Ah, I thought as much! this one is so heavy that I can scarcely lift it.”

Stumbling along on top of the cases, he tried first one and then another, till he was convinced that here again he had hit upon a large consignment of war material of some sort. For if it was not ammunition, or something of that nature, what could it be? And why should the cases be labelled ‘Sugar’? Obviously it was extremely likely that all the trucks were loaded with war material, for otherwise why the secrecy and incorrect labelling?

Satisfied that he had discovered a secret of the Boers, Jack scrambled from truck to truck on his way back to his carriage.

It was by no means easy work, for the train was now rushing along at a rapid pace, swaying from side to side and necessitating great caution, especially when he was stretching across the space which separated the trucks.

However, by dint of due caution he at last reached the foremost truck, and was on the point of lowering himself on to the buffers when his hand struck against a cord which seemed to run from end to end over the middle of the wooden cases. He ran his fingers along it, and was wondering what it could be, when the flash of a light from the open veldt at the side of the line caught his eye. A second later it had been left behind, but the rope in his hand jerked and then stretched tight, as though the flash had been a signal and someone were pulling.

At that moment the train was rushing downhill, and the brakes were applied to steady it. The grinding roar, and the sparks as they gripped the wheels, attracted Jack’s attention, while the tension on the cord in his hand became instantly greater. Then there was a succession of loud bangs and heavy jolts as the buffers of the carriages and trucks came together. Before Jack could so much as guess at the meaning of it all, the cord became suddenly slack, the brakes were clapped on to the wheels of the trucks, almost throwing him over the front with the jerk they caused, and the Johannesburg express was racing away from him into the darkness. For five minutes the trucks followed in the wake of the express, their pace getting every moment less. Then there was a clank and a jar, and they swerved from the main track through a siding behind a station, which was totally unlighted, and on beneath some overhanging trees, and out on to the veldt once more. A couple of hundred yards farther on a big hill loomed up directly in front of them, a large shed appeared in sight, and within five minutes the trucks had run beneath it and on a little way into the hill. Then the brakes bit the steel rims harder, and the whole came to a stop.

Jack had not wasted his time meanwhile. Feeling sure that he had accidentally got into a very dangerous corner, he crouched low upon the cases, and the instant the trucks pulled up, jumped over the side and darted underneath.

“Wie gaat daar?” (who goes there?) he heard someone exclaim, and a big Boer, with an iron-grey beard, appeared, carrying a lantern.

“We are Uitlanders and have brought you a present,” a voice shouted, and then there was a loud chorus of laughter.

Jack thrust his head out from beneath the truck and looked round. As far as he could ascertain from a hasty glance the trucks had come to a standstill in a large vaulted stone chamber, along the sides of which numerous guns of all sizes were packed, while behind them was a solid wall of boxes, similar to those in the truck above his head labelled “Sugar.”

As he looked out, the four men, including Piet Maartens, who had ridden in the van from Durban, stepped down to the ground, and it was one of these, a short stumpy little German, whom he knew well by sight, having seen him frequently in the streets of Johannesburg, who had made the brilliant joke at which his comrades had laughed. Evidently he was more proficient in the English tongue than in the difficult and uncouth language of which the Boer boasts, and as most of the latter who live in the Transvaal towns can speak English more or less perfectly, the conversation which followed was carried on so as to be perfectly intelligible to Jack.

“Well, Hans,” the big man who had first spoken said, addressing the German, “so you have brought Oom Paul’s groceries through quite safely, and without raising the suspicions of those English fools. Ha, ha! ‘Grapes, to be kept cool.’ Tis a fine idea. But it would never do if others than our own men handled them. They are too heavy, my friends, too heavy by far, and so also is the sugar of which his honour is buying such a large amount. It just shows what fools there are in the world, and what money, liberally spent, can do.”

“True, Oom Schalk,” the German answered, with a chuckle, “there are some fools indeed, as you say, and also there are wise men. Oom Paul is the wise man of this land, and he is slim—ah! so slim that no one has yet got the better of him. It was by his order that all this stuff here came through openly, and labelled as it is. It is just the fact that we make no attempt to hide it that ensures its reaching us in safety. Ah, those English! Well, a time is coming, Oom, when we shall teach them something. Bah! How I hate them! The very sight of one makes me ill.”

“Well, well,” Oom Schalk said with a smile, “you shall have a chance to pay them out, my friend. But now, let us see that all the trucks are right, and then we can leave them till the morning.”

Holding the lantern well above his head, and followed by his four comrades, the big Boer looked into the covered van, and then walked along by the side of the trucks, climbing up and inspecting the contents of each.

Now was Jack’s chance to get away, and he took it at once. Scrambling along on the concrete with which the vault was paved, he slowly passed beneath the trucks till he reached the end of the van. Peeping out to make sure that there was no one about, he stole along in the darkness, and soon was out of the vault and in a large shed built against the opening.

There seemed to be no one near, and the only sound was the grating of the feet of those behind him and the faint hum of their voices.

Standing up, he listened for a few moments, and, hearing nothing suspicious, ran across the shed towards the door. It was standing wide open, and at the sight he almost gave a cry of joy. In a moment he was close to it, and was on the point of rushing through when a strong arm clutched him by the collar, while the cold muzzle of a weapon was thrust into his ear.

It was a terrible shock, and set Jack’s heart throbbing fiercely. But he had the presence of mind to keep perfectly still, for that cold touch at his ear told him better than so many words that the slightest movement would mean his certain death.

A moment later someone else had grasped him on the other side, and he was marched back into the vault, and dragged before Oom Schalk and his companions.

“What is the matter?” the Boer demanded, placing his lantern close to Jack’s face, and scrutinising his features closely. “Why, he is not one of ours! He is a spy!”

“I cannot say who he is or how he came here, Oom,” the man who had captured Jack replied; “but as I stood by the door with Van Zyl and watched you as you walked along the trucks, I suddenly caught sight of someone creeping across the vault. His head passed between me and your lantern, and I saw at once that he was not one of you. So we waited here silently in the dark, and caught him as he was about to run through the door.”

“Who are you, boy?” Oom Schalk demanded fiercely, staring at Jack’s face.

“He’s English. He’s one of the hated Uitlanders!” shouted Piet Maartens, recognising Jack at this moment. “His name is Somerton, and I tell you, Oom, young though he is, he is as much our enemy as any. He is a spy, and has been sent by Hunter, or probably by the British consul, to watch our movements, so that news may be sent to the English Government.”

“A spy, a spy!” shrieked Hans, his fat face becoming livid with fear and rage. “He has seen all, and will betray us, this hated Englishman! Shoot him, Oom, shoot him! No one will know.”

“I am not a spy, and I came here because I could not help myself,” Jack answered defiantly. “I was late for the train at Newcastle, and only just managed to climb on one of these trucks. Before I could get back to the carnages they were gone, and I was being carried down here. Then, when I found none of my own countrymen with you I naturally tried to get away without being seen.”

“And you were not sent by anyone to spy on us?” asked Oom Schalk a little less sternly. “Answer me truly, for if you tell me a lie, as there is a heaven above I will shoot you, so that no one shall ever know what has become of you.”

“I am telling you the truth,” Jack answered stubbornly. “I can say no more. If you shoot me, you will be committing a foul murder, and will some day regret it bitterly.”

“Don’t believe him, Oom! Don’t believe the dog!” cried Piet Maartens savagely, scowling angrily at Jack. “He lies. I can see it on his face. He is a spy, and we must shoot him.”

“Yes, shoot him, shoot him!” chimed in the German. “What does it matter one proud Englishman more or less?”

“Softly, softly, Hans Schloss and Piet Maartens,” exclaimed Oom Schalk. “We need not hurry about this matter. The lad is young—no older than my own son—and I will not kill him yet. Wait till to-morrow, and we will learn more about him. All Englishmen are hateful, but I will not take the life of a single one of them unless there be good cause. Remember, my friends, there is but one God above us, and He will judge us for our acts. If this lad is guilty of spying he shall die, but in proper form, for I will not have him murdered. But he has a truthful face, and I am inclined to believe his story, for who would be such a fool, even amongst these Uitlanders, as to spy upon us here? No, no. It is unlikely, and we will wait till to-morrow to learn more about him, and sift the matter properly.”

“Bah! You have too soft a heart, Oom Schalk,” Hans Schloss shouted. “I say, let us end his spying at once, for if you wait he will manage to escape from us.”

“Wait, wait!” exclaimed Oom Schalk, with some show of temper. “You would not be so ready for me to carry out the sentence if you were in his place. To-morrow we will see about the matter, and meanwhile I place the prisoner in your hands. You will be responsible for him, and see that no harm comes to him, or I will show you that Oom Schalk has a stony heart at times.”

The big Boer nodded to Jack, and stalked out of the vault.

For a few moments Jack faced unflinchingly the six men who remained, wondering whether, now that their commandant had gone, they would shoot him or injure him in any way. But with a few muttered oaths and sneering remarks as to what would happen to him on the morrow, they turned away, Piet Maartens giving orders that he should be bound with a rope.

Five minutes later Jack was tied hand and foot, and placed upon the concrete flooring with his back resting against a wheel of one of the trucks. From here he watched his captors, who had retired into the shed. Placing their lanterns on the ground, they wrapped themselves in blankets, and, leaving one of their number seated on a stool, threw themselves down to sleep.

“I’m in a nasty hole,” thought Jack, “a very awkward fix indeed. If it had not been for Oom Schalk those brutes would certainly have shot me; and I’m not at all sure that they won’t do so after all, for there is no one to prove that I am telling the truth. Even if they don’t harm me, they are bound to get rid of me, for they can never allow me to remain in the Transvaal after this. Well, I must get away somehow.”

For half an hour he sat quietly thinking, with his eyes fixed upon the lanterns and upon the figure sitting close to them. The Boer had lit his pipe, but it constantly went out, and he as constantly lifted a lantern to get a light again. Then he put it on the ground, folded his arms, and stared about him. Soon his head drooped, and nodded gently, then his chin went down on his chest with a jerk, and he sat upright again, shrugged his burly shoulders, yawned, and looked about him. Jack watched him with deep interest, and soon saw that he had fallen asleep.

Now was his time, and noiselessly bringing his heels close beneath him, he gave his body a jerk forward by pressing against the truck with the back of his head, and in another moment was standing on his feet.

He was still helpless, for he was firmly bound, with his hands behind his back. But he had not been racking his brains all this time for nothing. He remembered that at Durban he had noticed that the corners of the iron trucks were not turned over, but bolted to angle-irons inside, leaving a more or less rough surface at the edge. It was a small matter, but he had noticed it just as one does take note of trivial points, and he now determined to put it to a good purpose. Inch by inch he shuffled along till he reached the corner of the truck against which he had been placed, then he leant against it, and commenced to rub the cords which bound his wrists up and down the roughened edge.

It was difficult work, but he clenched his teeth and put all his strength into it. After more than half an hour’s nibbing the cord was cut through and his hands were free. To release his legs was now a simple matter, and in a few minutes he was standing close to the truck, with his boots off, and slung across his shoulders by the laces. Then he undid his secret pocket, pressed the spring, and gripped the butt of his Mauser pistol.

At this moment there was a sound from the shed, and on looking in that direction Jack noticed that the sleepy sentry was half-awake once more, and was making a desperate effort to stand upon his feet. He yawned several times, shook himself, rubbed his eyes, and then suddenly turned and looked towards the trucks.

But Jack had expected such a movement, and when the sentry turned, the dim light showed him the prisoner still seated in the same position. Once more his head nodded, and within a few minutes he had dozed off again.

In a moment Jack was on his feet, and was darting across the concrete. A few seconds took him into the hut, and in another moment he was at the door. There was no lock, but it was bolted top and bottom.

He at once commenced to draw the bolts back, and had almost succeeded in opening the door when the sentry woke at the noise, saw his prisoner escaping, and shouted at the top of his voice.

“Stand!” cried Jack sternly, pointing his pistol at the man, as he was in the act of leaning over to reach his rifle.

Quick as lightning he pulled back the last bolt and flung the door open, covering the six men in front of him all the time. Three of these still lay on the ground in their blankets, half-sitting up on their elbows, and as yet scarcely understanding what had happened. Piet Maartens, however, and Hans Schloss the German, had at once jumped to their feet, and as Jack was turning to fly the latter stooped and picked up his rifle. Before he could bring it to his shoulder there was a sharp report, Jack’s weapon flashed vengefully, and the fat little German fell with a scream on the floor, with a Mauser bullet through the calf of his leg. Next moment Jack had darted through the doorway, banged the door to, and hurled a wheel-barrow, which happened to be just outside, across it. Then he turned sharp to the right and ran round the corner of the shed, for common sense told him that to attempt an escape across the open veldt which stretched away in front would be to run the almost certain risk of capture.

As it was, he crouched round the corner of the shed, and, Mauser in hand, watched to see what would happen next.

From the inside he could still hear a succession of piercing shrieks uttered by Hans Schloss, but these were quickly drowned by angry shouts and oaths. There was a loud shuffling of feet, and a moment later the door through which he had just escaped was flung open with a bang, and all the Boers rushed out pell-mell, leaving the German to his own devices.

But the wheel-barrow was yet to be a lesson to them, to teach them that even an English lad must be reckoned with at times. They were all men who had been used to sneering at the “Rooineks” (English) from the time when they were boys, when their fathers had detailed to them how some thousands of Boers had lain in ambush behind the stones on Laing’s Nek, and had destroyed a handful of British soldiers exposed out in the open. But here was a mere lad who had dared to spy upon their movements, and who, after capture, had listened bravely and calmly to the speedy death proposed for him. He had not even whined, or begged for mercy, but had as good as defied them. And now, to add to it all, he had in some manner, totally inexplicable to themselves, severed his bonds and escaped from the vault, wounding one of their number in the process; and had laid, as a kind of parting shot, a trap for them all, which brought the five men suddenly and with a violent crash to the ground, sending their rifles flying in all directions.

It was a bitter lesson, and goaded them to madness. With muttered curses and fierce shouts of rage they leapt to their feet, and, without pausing to think, rushed out into the open veldt, where the sharp reports from their rifles showed that they were firing at imaginary objects which they took to be the fugitive.

Had Jack wished it he could have planted more than one of the bullets from his pistol in the bodies of the Boers as they lay on the ground in the full glare of the lamps from the inside of the shed, but as yet he was by no means proficient with his weapon, and besides, he had no wish to take the life of any one of them, or to injure them in the slightest. All he aimed at was to make good his escape, and no sooner were they out of sight than he darted back towards the steep kopje in the side of which the vault was evidently constructed, and climbed up it, taking care to stoop low, and dodge from boulder to boulder. Soon he was at the top, and here, sheltered behind a breastwork of rock, he stopped and listened.

He could still hear shouting down on the veldt below, and an occasional rifle shot, but these soon ceased, and about half an hour later the five Boers returned and entered the shed, the light from the lamps throwing their figures into strong relief.

“Ah, now I can make a move!” thought Jack, “and the sooner I get away from here the better. After what has happened those fellows would shoot me if they got hold of me.”

At this moment he suddenly remembered that at Newcastle he had stowed his bag of buns away in his pocket. Pulling it out, he finished what was left, for he had an excellent appetite which no amount of adventure could disturb. Then, feeling better, he picked his way down the opposite side of the hill, and, having made a wide détour, turned towards the railway, and walked on till he came to it. Then he trudged along by the side of the metals, and in due course reached a small station midway between Volksrust and Standerton.

There was no one about, but the night was beautifully warm, and Jack therefore lay down on the veldt outside the station. Early next morning he walked on to the platform and knocked at the station-master’s door.

“Hallo! Who are you?” the latter asked in sleepy surprise, appearing in a half-dressed state, which showed that he had only just got out of bed.

“Oh, I’m one of the English from Johnny’s Burg!” Jack answered easily. “I’ve been staying with some people this way, and started last night to catch the train. But you people don’t trouble about sign-posts in these parts, and so I lost my way. Instead of finding my road to Standerton I got out of my reckoning and came down here, where I’ve spent the last few hours asleep on the veldt. Can you give me something to eat?”

“It’s a precious funny story,” the station-master, who was a Cape Dutchman, grumbled in reply. “But, then, you Englishmen, fresh from home, do all manner of strange things. Come in, and we’ll see what the Tanta has for you. But mind, I can’t afford to give you a meal; you must pay for it.”

Jack readily agreed, and ate ravenously when at last a dish of smoking biltong was placed before him, for his long march across the veldt had given him a keen appetite again, which his sleep in the open had in no way diminished. Big cups of smoking coffee were also provided, so that altogether he fared very well.

Then he lit a cigarette, paid the amount demanded, and went outside on to the platform, where he and the Dutch station-master walked up and down in friendly converse till the train for Johannesburg arrived.

Four and a half hours later he stepped on to the platform at the big mining city, the Golden City of South Africa, and walked to Mr Hunter’s store.

“Back again, Jack! Why, we did not expect you till to-morrow morning!” exclaimed Mr Hunter, shaking him by the hand. “Your bag and the leather goods turned up early this morning, and as you didn’t arrive we naturally thought you had decided to stay a day longer and would return by to-night’s mail.”

“No; I ought to have been back early this morning with the baggage, Mr Hunter,” Jack answered; “but as it was, I was delayed just on this side of the Transvaal border, and have had to come on by a local train. I’m afraid it’s likely to be rather a serious matter, and as soon as possible I should like you to give me some advice.”

“My dear Jack, whatever are you talking about?” exclaimed Mr Hunter in astonishment. “Was there an accident at Volksrust? But no, I know there was not, for I went to meet the train this morning. Whatever made you break your journey? You have no friends in that part of the country that I have heard of.”

“I’ll tell you all about it if you’ll come out on the verandah, Mr Hunter,” Jack answered. “I’ve been on my legs, tramping over the veldt, all night, and I’m feeling a bit done-up and tired. Let us get a couple of chairs out there, and then you can hear all I’ve got to tell.”

A few minutes later Wilfred joined them, and the three settled themselves comfortably on the verandah, where Tom Thumb, Mr Hunter’s Zulu “boy”, who was the biggest native ever seen in Johannesburg, supplied them with long glasses of deliciously cold lemon-squash.

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