the sound of a second report reached his ears. It was now
evident that somebody was firing at him; so, jumping up from his
crouching position, John tossed his arms into the air and sprang and
shouted in a way that left no mistake as to his whereabouts. In another
minute he saw a man on horseback, cantering easily towards him, in whom
he had little difficulty in recognising Frank Muller. He picked up his
hat; there was a bullet-hole right through it. Then, full of wrath, he
advanced to meet Frank Muller.

"What the devil do you mean by firing at me?" he asked.

"_Allemachter, carle!_" (Almighty, my dear fellow) was the cool answer,
"I thought that you were a vilderbeeste calf. I galloped the cow and
killed her, and she had a calf with her, and when I got the cartridges
out of my rifle--for one stuck and took me some time--and the new ones
in, I looked up, and there, as I thought, was the calf. So I got my
rifle on and let drive, first with one barrel and then with the other,
and when I saw you jump up like that and shout, and that I had been
firing at a man, I nearly fainted. Thank the Almighty I did not hit
you."

John listened coldly. "I suppose that I am bound to believe you,
_Meinheer_ Muller," he said. "But I have been told that you have the
most wonderful sight of any man in these parts, which makes it odd that
at three hundred yards you should mistake a man upon his hands and knees
for a vilderbeeste calf."

"Does the Captain think, then, that I wished to murder him; especially,"
he added, "after I shook his hand this morning?"

"I don't know what I think," answered John, looking straight into
Muller's eyes, which fell before his own. "All I know is that your
curious mistake very nearly cost me my life. Look here!" and he took a
lock of his brown hair out of the crown of his perforated hat and showed
it to the other.

"Ay, it was very close. Let us thank God that you escaped."

"It could not well have been closer, _Meinheer_. I hope that, for your
own sake and for the sake of the people who go out shooting with you,
you will not make such a mistake again. Good-morning!"

The handsome Boer, or Anglo-Boer, sat on his horse stroking his
beautiful beard and gazing curiously after John Niel's sturdy
English-looking figure as he marched towards the cart, for, of course,
the wounded vilderbeeste had long ago vanished.

"I wonder," he said to himself aloud, as he turned his horse's head
and rode leisurely away