“They did, but how did you know that, Mr. Marnham?”

“Your servants told me.  I met them running to the house looking very frightened.  You are wounded, Mr. Anscombe?”

“Yes, a couple of days ago on the border of Sekukuni’s country where the natives tried to murder us.”

“Ah!” he replied without surprise.  “I warned you the trip was dangerous, did I not?  Well, come on home where my partner, Rodd, who luckily has had medical experience, will attend to you.  Mr. Quatermain can tell me the story as we go.”

So we went on up the long slope, I relating our adventures, to which Mr. Marnham listened without comment.

“I expect that the Kaffirs will have looted the wagon and be on the way home with your oxen by now,” he said when I had finished.

“Are you not afraid that they will follow us here?” I asked.

“Oh no, Mr. Quatermain.  We do business with these people, also they sometimes come to be doctored by Rodd when they are sick, so this place is sacred ground to them.  They stopped hunting you when they got to the Yellow-wood swamp where our land begins, did they not?”

“Yes, but now I want to hunt them.  Can you give me any help?  Those oxen are tired out and footsore, so we might be able to catch them up.”

He shook his head.  “We have very few people here, and by the time that you could get assistance from the Camp at Barberton, if the Commandant is able and willing to give you any, which I rather doubt, they will be far away.  Moreover,” he added, dropping his voice, “let us come to an understanding.  You are most welcome to any help or hospitality that I can offer, but if you wish to do more fighting I must ask you to go elsewhere.  As I have told you, we are peaceful men who trade with these people, and do not wish to be involved in a quarrel with them, which might expose us to attack or bring us into trouble with the British Government which has annexed but not conquered their country.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.  While we are with you we will do nothing, but afterwards we hold ourselves at liberty to act as we think best.”

“Quite so.  Meanwhile I hope that you and Mr. Anscombe will make yourselves comfortable with us for as long as you like.”

In my own mind I came to the conclusion that this would be for the shortest time possible, but I only said—­

“It is most kind of you to take in complete strangers thus.  No, not complete,” I added, looking towards Anscombe who was following on the tired horse a few paces behind, “for you knew his father, did you not?”

“His father?” he said, lifting his eyebrows.  “No.  Oh!  I remember, I said something to that effect the other night, but it was a mistake.  I mixed up two names, as one often does after a lapse of many years.”

“I understand,” I answered, but remembering Anscombe’s story I reflected to myself that our venerable host was an excellent liar.  Or more probably he meant to convey that he wished the subject of his youthful reminiscences to be taboo.