That news sobered Brown completely.  He took the bottle of whisky he had just brought up from the cellar and replaced it unopened.

“There’s on’y one Greek in the world knew where my cattle were!” he announced grimly.  “There’s on’y one Greek I ever talked to about cattle.  Coutlass, by the great horn spoon!  The blackguard swore he was after you chaps—­swore he didn’t care nothing about me!  What he did to you was none o’ my business, o’ course—­an’ I figured anyway as you could look out for yourselves!  Not that I told the swine any o’ your business, mind!  Not me!  I was so sure he was gunnin’ for you that I told him my own business to throw him off your track!  And now the devil goes an’ turns on me!”

He got down his rifle and began overhauling it, feverishly, yet with a deliberate care that was curious in a man so recently drunk.  While he cleaned and oiled be gave orders to his own boys; and what with having servants of our own and having to talk to them mostly in the native tongue, we were able to understand pretty well the whole of what he said.

“You’re not going to start after them to-night?” Fred objected.  But he and Will were also already overhauling weapons, for the second time that evening. (It is religion with the true hunter never to eat supper until his rifle is cleaned and oiled.) I got my own rifle down from the shelf over Brown’s stone mantelpiece.

“What d’you take me for?” demanded Brown.  “There’s one pace they’ll go at, an’ that’s the fastest possible.  There’s one place they’ll head for, an’ that’s German East.  They can’t march faster than the cattle, an’ the cattle’ll have to eat.  Maybe they’ll drive ’em all through the first night, and on into the next day; but after that they’ll have to rest ’em an’ graze ’em a while.  That’s when we’ll begin to gain.  The tireder the cattle get, the faster we’ll overhaul ’em, for we can eat while we’re marchin’, which the cattle can’t!  You chaps just stay here an’ look after my farm till I come back!”

“You mean you propose to go alone after them?” asked Fred.

“Why not?  Whose cattle are they?”

He was actually disposed to argue the point.

“Man alive, there’ll be shootin’!” he insisted.  “If they once get over the border with all those cattle, the Germans’ll never hand ’em over until every head o’ cattle’s gone.  They’ll fine ’em, an’ arrest ’em, an’ trick ’em, an’ fine ’em again until the Germans own the herd all legal an’ proper—­an’ then they’ll chase the Greeks back to British East for punishment same as they always do.  What good ’ud that be to me?  No, no!  Me—­I’m going to catch ’em this side o’ the line, or else bu’st—­an’ I won’t be too partic’lar where the line’s drawn either!  There’s maybe a hundred miles to the south o’ their line that the Germans don’t patrol more often than once in a leap-year.  If I catch them Greeks in any o’ that country, I’m going to kid myself deliberate that it’s British East, and act accordin’!”