nigh
impenetrable bush. Here and there a red krantz with aloe-fringed brow
rose up, bronze-gleaming in the morning sun, and away below, in front,
and on either hand, the broad river valley into which he was descending.

He was a middle-aged man, of medium height, but tough and wiry. He had
good features and his short beard was crisp and grizzled, but the
expression of his eyes was cold and business-like, as indeed it was
bound to be if there is anything in the science of physiognomy, for he
was a byword as being a hard nail at a deal, and everything he touched
prospered. In fact his acquaintance near and far were wont to say that
Le Sage had never made a bad bargain in his life. Perhaps they were
right, but Le Sage himself, now as a turn of the road brought some
objects in sight, was more than inclined to question that dictum.

The said objects were only some cattle, a most ordinary everyday sight,
and the cattle were not even his. Yet a frown came over his face. The
cattle were poor, and one or two, to his experienced eyes, showed signs
of disease.

"Wyvern's, of course!" he pronounced to himself wrathfully. "Every case
of redwater or _brand-ziekte_ in the whole country-side is sure to be
traceable to Wyvern's cattle or sheep. What the devil could have put
into such a fellow's head that he was any good in the world at fanning?
He'd better stick to his fusty books and become a damned professor.
That's about all he's good for. I doubt if he's even good for that I
doubt if he's even good for anything."

These wrathful reflections were due to the fact that he had just met
with a reminder--one of many--that he had at any rate made one bad
bargain, for Wyvern was engaged to his daughter; and now it was a
question only of months perhaps, when Wyvern should be sold up.

Then and there he made up his mind again that the engagement should be
broken off, and yet while so making it up--we said "again"--the same
misgiving that had haunted him on former occasions did so duly and once
more, that the said breaking off would be a matter of no little
difficulty even were it ever achieved at all. Wyvern might be a bad
fanner, a hopeless one in fact, but he would be a hard nut to crack in a
matter of this kind, and Lalante--well, here was a hard and fast
alliance for the offensive and defensive, which would require a breaking
power such as he could not but realise to himself he scarcely possessed.

On rode Vincent Sage, mi