Part 41 (1/2)
”That shed with the iron roof is to be our bedroom, I suppose?” said West.
”Yes, and we're lucky to get that and a few sacks.”
Just then the Boer came slowly sidling up, smoking hard the while, to know if they had seen anything of the war, and he seemed deeply interested on hearing that a skirmish had been going on not so many miles from his farm.
”Why are you two not fighting?” he said suddenly.
”Because we don't want to,” was West's smiling reply.
”But you are Englanders?” said the Boer.
”Yes, but all Englanders don't want to fight,” said West, while Ingleborough looked on, quite unmoved.
”Oh, don't tell, me!” said the Boer, shaking his head. ”They all want to fight and kill the Boers before robbing them of their homes and farms. Don't tell me--I know!”
He walked away to where the Kaffir was seeing to the horses, and West noticed that he took a good deal of notice of them, glanced two or three times in the direction of his visitors, and then ran his hands down their legs in a most professional way, narrowly escaping a kick from West's steed, before he walked thoughtfully back to his rough--looking house, into which he was careful not to allow his guests to enter.
”We're to share the stable with the nags,” said Ingleborough; ”but it doesn't matter. Let's go and see how they are getting on,” he continued, as the Boer disappeared indoors. ”We can't afford to have them fed on some of his lords.h.i.+p's refuse. I know something of the tricks of these gentlemen of old.”
They entered the rough stable, where the big Kaffir was standing on one side and greeted them with a heavy scowl.
”Well, Jack,” said Ingleborough, ”are the ponies eating their corn?”
”Yes, baas,” said the black gruffly; ”eat um all fast.”
”Ah, I thought so,” said Ingleborough quietly, sniffing and blowing on the musty trash. ”Do you feed your horses on stuff like this?”
He turned so sharply on the Kaffir that the man shrank as if from a blow; but his questioner smiled.
”Not your fault, I suppose?”
”Baas say, 'Give ponies thaht,'” he replied apologetically.
”Of course, my lad,” said Ingleborough, drawing out a s.h.i.+lling and slipping it into the black's hand.
”Now you get some of the best corn, and see that the horses eat it. You understand?”
”Yes, baas,” said the man, with a sharp click, as his eyes glistened and he showed his white teeth in a satisfied grin. ”Soon my baas go away, give them good to eat.”
”Is your baas going away?”
”Iss; saddle pony; go away.”
As the black spoke he pointed to the farther end of the long mud-walled shed, where another pony was tied up.
Just then the shrill voice of the Boer vrouw was heard calling, and the Kaffir gave a shout in reply.
”Tant' Ann want um,” he said, and he ran out, joined the lady at the door, and was dismissed to get some fuel from a heap, while the farmer came out, smoking away, and Ingleborough left the shed with West as if to join him.
”Are you going to give him your opinion?” said West.