The white man and Hans, if Hans it was, were engaged in violent altercation whereof snatches floated to me on the breeze, spoken in the Dutch tongue.

“You dirty little Hottentot!” shouted the white man, waving a stick, “I’ll cut the liver out of you.  What do you mean by nosing about after me like a jackal?” And he struck at Hans, who jumped aside.

“Son of a fat white sow,” screamed Hans in answer (for the moment I heard his voice I knew that it was Hans), “did you dare to call the Baas a thief?  Yes, a thief, O Rooter in the mud, O Feeder on filth and worms, O Hog of the gutter—­the Baas, the clipping of whose nail is worth more than you and all your family, he whose honour is as clear as the sunlight and whose heart is cleaner than the white sand of the sea.”

“Yes, I did,” roared the white man; “for he got my money in the gold mine.”

“Then, hog, why did you run away.  Why did you not wait to tell him so outside that house?”

“I’ll teach you about running away, you little yellow dog,” replied the other, catching Hans a cut across the ribs.

“Oh! you want to see me run, do you?” said Hans, skipping back a few yards with wonderful agility.  “Then look!”

Thus speaking he lowered his head and charged like a buffalo.  Fair in the middle he caught that white man, causing him to double up, fly backwards and land with a most resounding splash in the deepest part of the muddy sluit.  Here I may remark that, as his shins are the weakest, a Hottentot’s head is by far the hardest and most dangerous part of him.  Indeed it seems to partake of the nature of a cannon ball, for, without more than temporary disturbance to its possessor, I have seen a half-loaded wagon go over one of them on a muddy road.

Having delivered this home thrust Hans bolted round a corner and disappeared, while I waited trembling to see what happened to his adversary.  To my relief nearly a minute later he crept out of the sluit covered with mud and dripping with water and hobbled off slowly down the street, his head so near his feet that he looked as though he had been folded in two, and his hands pressed upon what I believe is medically known as the diaphragm.  Then I also went upon my way roaring with laughter.  Often I have heard Hottentots called the lowest of mankind, but, reflected I, they can at any rate be good friends to those who treat them well—­a fact of which I was to have further proof ere long.

By the time I reached my house and had filled my pipe and sat myself down in the dilapidated cane chair on the veranda, that natural reaction set in which so often follows rejoicing at the escape from a great danger.  It was true that no one believed I had cheated them over that thrice-accursed gold mine, but how about other matters?