o wayfarers listened with the most unfeigned delight.

But from Pinetown to Pietermaritzburg is no great distance even for a
bullock-waggon, and on the afternoon of the second day they came in
sight of the capital, an area of blue gums and straggling iron roofs,
lying in a vast hollow. Both were unfeignedly sorry that the journey
was over. They felt like being cast adrift again, and said as much to
their new friend as they took a right cordial leave of him.

"Well, I've been very glad to have you," said the latter. "Been sort of
company like. What do you think you're likely to be doing with
yourselves now you are here, if I may ask?"

"I want first of all to find out a relative of mine," said Gerard.
"I've a letter to him. Anstey, his name is. Do you know him?"

A queer smile came into the transport-rider's face at the name.

"Anstey, is it?" he said. "So he's a relation of yours? Well, he's
easily found. He runs a Kafir store out beyond Howick, near the Umgeni
Fall. Does he know you're coming?"

"He knows I'm coming some time, but not to the day."

Again that queer expression in John Dawes's weather-beaten countenance.
Gerard thought nothing of it then; afterwards he had reason to remember
it.

"Umjilo's the name of his place. You can't miss it. Well, good-bye,
both of you. We may knock up against each other again or we may not;
it's a ram world, and not a very big one either. I wish you good luck.
I'll send your traps down first thing in the morning."

With which adieu, cordial if practical, John Dawes turned away to greet
a batch of old acquaintances who had just hailed him; while his late
passengers took their way townwards, both agreeing thoroughly upon one
point, viz. that the transport-rider was "a downright real jolly good
fellow."

CHAPTER FIVE.

ANSTEY'S STORE.

"Here! Hi! you two Johnny Raws! What the devil are you doing there,
tramping down all my green mealies? Get out of that, will you?" And a
volley of curses emphasised the injunction, as the speaker hurried up to
the scene of the damage.

The latter was a good-sized mealie patch adjoining the roadside, through
whose battered and broken-down fence had plunged a horse--a stubborn and
refractory horse withal, whose shies and plunges sorely tried the
equilibrium of his unskilled rider. That rider was no other than our
friend Harry Maitland. Gerard, who was a better horseman, had kept his
steed in the road, and was shou