in the greatest feather of all, for would
there not be a prodigious consumption of drinks in the bar of the Barkly
Hotel that night? Roden and Emerson were left alone at the table.

"Come along, Musgrave; let's go and have a look at these Barabastadt
heroes," said the latter. "The Light Brigade is nothing to them. We
are sure to see some first-class fun."

"Not a doubt of it," was the reply. And these two cynics rose to follow
the crowd, but with a different motive.

Outside, in the starlight, the whole town was astir. The two men who
had ridden in to notify the arrival of the main body were beset with
questions--and drinks. What was the latest news? Had Government called
out the burgher forces all round; and if not, would it do so? and so on,
and so on. Meanwhile the local Volunteer Corps, numbering about sixty
of all ages and sizes, had formed in marching order, and, preluded by a
few sounding whacks on the big drum, the band struck up, and that
doughty force marched off to quick-step time, accompanied by a moving
mass of humanity; even the inhabitants of Doppersdorp and its
`location'--some mounted, the larger proportion on foot, amid much
talking and laughing and horseplay and lighting of pipes; a squad of
ragged Hottentots of both sexes, chattering shrilly, hanging on the
rear.

"Here come the heroes," said Emerson satirically, as, having proceeded
about a couple of miles out, a cloud of dust and a dark, moving mass
came indistinctly into sight. So the Volunteers were halted, eke the
civilians; and Mr Van Stolz rode forward to welcome the leaders of the
Barabastadt burgher force. Then forming into double file, and preceded
by the band, the new arrivals resumed their route for Doppersdorp.

Now it happened, unfortunately, that the band of that doughty corps, the
Doppersdorp Rifles, was very much in a state of embryo. Its available
repertory consisted of but two tunes, for the simple reason that it knew
no others. These were "Silver Threads among the Gold," and "Home, Sweet
Home." The first of these had enlivened the march out; and although it
was started to effect the same object on the return, it would hardly
last over a space of two miles. The second, though admirably adapted
for welcoming the returning warriors, as a God-speed was clearly
inappropriate. The bandmaster--our old acquaintance Darrell, the
attorney, whose persuasive eloquence had not availed to save the mutton
thief, Gonjana, from