and the
next moment the little flame began to burn inside the Kaffir's hands,
lighting up his exulting countenance as he waited till the splint of
wood was well alight.

"What are you going to do?" said West hoarsely, as he leaned forward and
laid his right hand upon the black's shoulder.

"Don't shake light out!" was the answer. "Olebo going make big fire,
roast Tant' Ann! Big fat witch, soon burn!"

As the Kaffir finished he lowered one hand, leaving the match blazing
brightly, and he was in the act of leaning in to apply it to the little
heap of matches he had placed upon the loose straw mattress, when a
sharp snatch at his shoulder jerked him back, and the burning splint
dropped to the ground.

"Ah-h-ah!" growled the man savagely, and he drew another match across
the box he still held.

"None of that!" growled Ingleborough sternly.

"Wicked old witch!" said the black, in remonstrance. "Burn Olebo!
Don't give him enough to eat! No good!"

"You come along," cried West. "I can hear the Boers coming fast. Now
then, lead the horses clear of the pens!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

NIGHT ON THE VELDT.

The Kaffir grunted, and began what Ingleborough afterwards called
"chuntering," but he obeyed at once, leading the ponies at a quick walk
in and out amongst several ostrich enclosures, till they were quite a
quarter of a mile from the farm, from which there came the buzz of
voices and the occasional stamp of a horse on the still night air.

"No more wire fence!" said their guide, and indicating that they should
urge the ponies forward he took his shield and spears from Ingleborough,
caught hold of the mane of West's pony, and then as they broke into a
canter, ran lightly by the animal's side, talking softly, and now and
then breaking out into a merry laugh.

"Ought burn Tant' Ann!" he said. "Wicked old witch! Very fat! Make
her good vrouw!"

"I'm afraid Jack's morals are sadly in need of improvement, lad," said
Ingleborough at last.

"What a horrible idea!" replied West, with a shudder; "and the worst of
it is that the fellow seems to consider that it would have been a good
piece of fun."

"Yes, it is his nature to, as we are told of the bears and lions in the
poems of Dr Watts. I dare say the old woman had been a horrible tyrant
to the poor fellow!"

"But the hideous revenge!"

"Which hasn't come off, my lad! But the black scoundrel's ideas are
shocking in the extreme, and I would not assoc