Espying a pretty little cottage in the valley below, I rode thither to try and buy a loaf of bread, leaving the others to continue calling.  On the way down I noticed a telegraph wire running in the direction of Potchefstroom.  In the farmhouse were only two young girls, the elder a charming golden-haired fairy with tender eyes of cornflower blue.  And her smile!—­it was enough to make one say all kinds of silly things just for the pleasure of seeing her ripe lips part, revealing her wholesome, even little teeth!  No wonder I delayed my departure!  I left at last, however—­not without the loaf of bread—­and made for the camp.  I had not gone far before I met one of the burghers, who told me Steyn and De Wet had gone up to the helio post a little while before.  What would they say when they found me absent from my post!  I approached the camp in anything but an enviable mood, and was just off-saddling when the two leaders returned.  Like a flash the thought came to me of the telegraph line I had seen.

“President,” I said eagerly, before he could speak, “there’s a telegraph line near here.  Shan’t I go and try to tap it?”

He looked at me very seriously for a moment, and then replied, a smile breaking through the frown, “Yes, go on, you should have been there already.”  Saved again!  I went, but needless to say, if I heard any secrets that evening it was not through the medium of a telegraph wire!

SKIRMISHES

A band of about thirty Transvaalers, mostly from Potchefstroom, who had been attached to De Wet for some time, now decided to go on ahead and join Liebenberg’s commando, near their native town.  As De Wet had no intention of moving forward just yet, I joined my brother Transvaalers.  Bidding adieu to our Free State comrades, we crossed the Vaal.  Just beyond the river we were joined by two or three others, who had with them as prisoner a British sergeant.  This fellow had been in charge of a band of native police, whose insolence had terrorised the women and children for miles around, until a body of Boers came along and routed them out of the district, capturing their leader.  What became of the blacks I do not know, but it must be remembered that the Transvaal natives are Boer subjects, and liable to be shot if caught aiding the British.  The feeling against the sergeant was very bitter.

“Oh, you’re the Kafir chief, are you?” said one of our men to him.

“Ho, yuss, h’ I’m the Kefir ginnyril,” responded the flattered cockney, with an irritating grin.

“I’d like to Kafir general you through the head,” said the disgusted Boer promptly.  The sickly grin faded, and the threat was not carried out.