no one spoke, but all drew deep, shaking breaths, dashing the sweat from their eyes. "Allemagtig," gasped Viljoen at length. "What are we going to do now Jackson has gone? No one else knows the land." "First we get clothes," answered their leader. "All the Transvaal knows these damn red shirts. Then we keep going to the right here. There's a farmstead a few miles on that Jackson once owned. We get clothes there, and then strike the railway. The trainsall stop at Swarts Drift for water. We jump aboard, and once in Jo'burg. . . . Come on." The four men again set off, alternately trotting and walking, and occasionally stopping for a few minutes' rest. A small, chill wind had sprung up by this time and the darkness of the veld enveloped them like a black shroud. It was not even possible to make out where sky ended and earth began, and the dismal howling of marauding jackals added to the sense of eerie loneliness. For hours the shadowy group laboured onwards, with frequent pauses during which they tried to pierce the opaque wall of blackness ahead, hoping to see a light which would denote the position of their objective. The wind had freshened and great dark clouds were piling up. The moon had veiled her light and stars were no longer visible. I neytoiled onwards, travelling solely by a sense of direction. The few landmarks they came upon in that flat waste meant nothing to them. Soon they were hopelessly lost, and once again theparty stopped. "For Piet's sake, kerel," demanded Viljoen,"where is this farm house? You said we'd reach it in an hour. We must have been going four times as long already." At the end of another hour Viljoen became aggressive. "Damn you, Jordaan," he stormed,"you've got us in worse than ever. We missed your blasted farm and soon It will be getting light again." The other two standing close behind him growled in agreement. "Shut up, you jackals," shouted Jordaan. "We're all in it now." He waved his revolver menacingly. ' v\nq by Cod . . . Look!" shouted Krugei suddenly, flinging his arm sideways. All stared eagerly at a golden speck clearly visible arar to the lert. ' i ne farmhouse," yelled Viljoen, and, forgetting their weariness, the tour men broke unto a run. Soon the point of light shaped itself into the likeness of a window, and half an hour later the indistinct outline of a double-storied building became discernible against the deeper blackness of the sky. Cautiously the prisoners climbed through the wire tence, thirty yards or so from the window, and stole across the small garden. The window stood wide open, and a man, collarless and without a coat, sat at a table pushed against the inher sill. He was reading, his head lowered and resting on his cupped hands; every now and men ne dropped an arm and wrote on a paper before him. So absorbed was he that when Jordaan raised head and shoulders above the level ot the sill he made no movement. The convict raised his arm and pointed his revolver at the man's head. Becoming aware of a presence, the writer suddenly raised his head and stared into Jordaan's eyes, blowly his mouth fell agape, and a look of astonishment crossed his tace. His chair rasped back and he half rose. "Keep still," Jordaan jerked at him, and as the man subsided the other three climbed into the room. Jordaan followed, carefully cover ing his man. "Stand up!" he commanded, and as the man obeyed,"Do what you're told and you won't get hurt. We want some clothes, see. Vou . . ." The man unexpectedly flung himself towards the door. 61
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