we
call a 'smouse' out here, and got into a row with them, I don't
know how. The end of it was that they burned his waggon, looted his
trade-goods and oxen, and killed his servants. They would have killed
him too, only, according to his own account, he escaped in a very queer
fashion."

"How?"

"Well, he says by mesmerising the chief and making the man lead him
through his followers. An odd story enough, but I can quite believe
it of Jacob. He worked for me for six months, and showed himself very
clever. Then one night, I remember it was a few days after I had told
him of the story of the Portuguese treasure in Matabeleland, he produced
L500 in Bank of England notes out of the lining of his waistcoat, and
offered to buy a half interest in the farm. Yes, L500! Although for
all those months I had believed him to be a beggar. Well, as he was so
_slim_, and better than no company in that lonely place, in the end I
accepted. We have done well since, except for the expedition after the
treasure which we did not get, although we more than paid our expenses
out of the ivory we bought. But next time we shall succeed, I am sure,"
he added with enthusiasm, "that is, if we can persuade those Makalanga
to let us search on the mountain."

Benita smiled.

"I think you had better stick to the horsebreeding," she said.

"You shall judge when you hear the story. But you have been brought up
in England; will you not be afraid to go to Lake Chrissie?"

"Afraid of what?" she asked.

"Oh! of the loneliness, and of Jacob Meyer."

"I was born on the veld, Father, and I have always hated London. As for
your odd friend, Mr. Meyer, I am not afraid of any man on earth. I have
done with men. At the least I will try the place and see how I get on."

"Very well," answered her father with a sigh of relief. "You can always
come back, can't you?"

"Yes," she said indifferently. "I suppose that I can always come back."

V

JACOB MEYER

More than three weeks had gone by when one morning Benita, who slept
upon the cartel or hide-strung bed in the waggon, having dressed herself
as best she could in that confined place, thrust aside the curtain and
seated herself upon the voorkisse, or driving-box. The sun was not yet
up, and the air was cold with frost, for they were on the Transvaal
high-veld at the end of winter. Even through her thick cloak Benita
shivered and called to the driver of the waggon, who also acted as cook,
and whose b