Part 54 (1/2)

The next moment the heavy-looking fellow had turned his back again, stepped to the front part of the wagon, and sprawled over part of the wood-work as he tried to draw himself on to the chest before getting inside.

But Ingleborough was a strong man, and he proved it, for, stepping behind the man, he caught him by the collar of his jacket and the loose part of his knicker-bocker-like breeches, and dragged him off the wagon, to plant him down in front of West.

The result was that their prisoner began to rage out abusive words in Dutch, so loudly that in the exasperation he felt, Ingleborough raised his right foot and delivered four kicks with appalling vigour and rapidity--appalling to the receiver, who uttered a series of yells for help in sound honest English, struggling the while to escape, but with his progress barred by West, who closed up and seized him by the arm.

The outcry had its effect, for the called-for help arrived, in the shape of a sergeant and half-a-dozen men, who came up at the double with fixed bayonets.

”What's all this?” cried the sergeant sharply, as he surrounded the party.

”Only a miracle!” cried Ingleborough. ”This so-called Boer, who could not speak a word of English, has found his tongue.”

”What are you, prisoner--a Boer?” cried the sergeant.

”Ah, yah, yah,” was the reply, gutturally given; ”Piet Retif, Boer.”

”Well, sir, orders are that the Boer prisoners are not to be ill-used,”

said the sergeant. Then, turning to the prisoner: ”This your wagon and span?”

”Ah, yah, yah, Piet Retif.”

”He says Yah, yah, sir,” said the sergeant, ”which means it is his wagon.”

”Oh yes, it is his, I believe,” said Ingleborough.

”Then what have you against him?”

”Only that he's a renegade Englishman, a man who deserted from Kimberley to the Boers.”

”It's a lie, sergeant,” cried the man excitedly.

”That's good English,” cried Ingleborough. ”I told you I had worked a miracle; now perhaps I can make him say a little more. He's an illicit-diamond merchant and cheat as well, and his name is not Piet Retif, but James Anson, late clerk to the Kimberley Company. What do you say, West?”

”The same as you,” replied West.

”It is a lie!” cried the man. ”Piet Retif, dealer in mealies and corn.”

”Mealies and corn!” cried Ingleborough scornfully. ”The man is what I say: an utter scoundrel, cheat, and, worse than all, a renegade and deserter to the Boers.”

Anson's jaw dropped, and his face seemed to turn from a warm pink to green.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

ANOTHER START.

Before Anson's jaw had time to return to its place the sergeant and his men sprang up to attention, looking as stiff as if on parade.

West was the first to see the reason, and he nudged Ingleborough, just as a stern voice asked what was wrong.

”Bit of a row, sir, between the two despatch-riders and this prisoner, sir,” replied the sergeant. ”Prisoner charges these two gentlemen with a.s.saulting him. Says he's a Boer!”