Cousin Groblaar still lay sleeping heavily within the shadow of one of the waggons. Stephanus had moved away to some considerable distance to brood over his defeat and bathe his eyes and nose at a water-hole. The Kaffirs were also sound asleep on their side of the fire, therefore they had this contested part of the veldt to themselves.
"You managed that onslaught in very good style, my lad, and have made for yourself a pretty dangerous enemy, or I am much mistaken in my reading of faces."
"An avowed enemy is better than a secret one, sir, and I have good reasons to suspect Stephanus Groblaar of being one before this night," replied Ned.
"Ah, Groblaar is his name! Any friend of Groblaar, the vine-grower, of Stellenbosch?"
"His nephew, sir. Yonder lies his son asleep."
"Let him sleep," said the stranger, hastily. "Then the young man you punished must be the son of Burgher Groblaar, of Pretoria?"
"I believe so, sir. At least, his home is in that city," answered Ned.
"Hum! thanks for this information. Then take my advice, part company with this Stephanus Groblaar as soon as possible, and also--don't air those Imperial ideas too freely when you are going to Johannesburg. They are not fashionable there at present."
"I will never hear my nation insulted without resenting it, sir," replied Ned, boldly.
"Better swallow insult than run the risk of imprisonment."
"No, sir; I cannot endorse that sentiment."
"It is the sentiment generally held by the Transvaal Uitlanders."
"Nor mine!" "Nor mine!" cried Fred and Clarence in chorus.
"Good lads," said the stranger, in feeling tones, holding out his large hand to our heroes, who grasped it by turns. "I like you for your pluck and freshness. Tell me your names, so that I may remember them if I can serve you at any time."
The lads at once produced their cards and presented them. The stranger smiled humorously as he took the paste-boards.
"Ah, you are fresh from England, I see. All the better. You will see some sad and humbling sights in Johannesburg. But keep up your pluck, and don't forget that you are sons of a mighty nation of free men."
"Depend upon it we shall never do that, so long as the great Cecil Rhodes stays in Africa, at any rate." The stranger started, and a dusky tint seemed to overspread his face. Then he smiled and looked at the cards.