Chapter VI: A Cape Rebel

The Dutchman whom the unfortunate Pete had floored was Piet Van Donnop, a son of the farmer of that name. Although stunned by the blow administered by the Kaffir, he soon regained consciousness.

A number of infuriated Boers stood around the mouth of the cave, gesticulating wildly in the guttural Taal tongue.

Jack and Morton could both be plainly seen. The ostrich farmer's son had risen to his feet, and gazing steadily at a Boer who had covered him with his rifle, cried, "Shoot, you coward!"

The next moment would have been Jack's last, had not a powerful arm struck up the rifle barrel. Piet Van Donnop saved our hero's life.

"Oh, it is you, Lovat," said Piet, whose head was covered with a bloodstained bandage. "What are you doing here, and who is your companion? Ah! one of the rooibaatjes, I see."

Morton struggled to his feet and faced the Boers.

"I'm not a rooibaatje," said Morton, "but I am fighting in their cause. You can do your worst. I'm not a hands-upper, or a white-flagger either," he continued scornfully.

The Boers withdrew a few paces, but not before securing the two rifles and the bandoliers worn by Jack and Morton.

A consultation took place among the burghers, and Jack's quick ears detected among other sentences the words, "Shoot the dogs." Their fate was evidently trembling in the balance, and Jack's thoughts wandered to the Kopje Farm, his father, mother, and Mary.

Then a bearded man of immense stature stepped into the cave and approached Morton, who with a pallid face was leaning against a boulder of rock.

The Boer addressed Morton in good English. "To what regiment do you belong, rooinek?" he demanded.

"That is my business," answered the scout haughtily. "I decline to answer."

"Where are your fellows?" asked the Boer, without displaying any sign of temper.

"I decline to give you any information whatever," replied Morton.

"A sjambok may elicit what I desire to know," said the Boer grimly. "You are speaking now to Christian Uys. You have heard of me, I suppose?"

"Oh yes, I have," answered the scout. "We have been trying for some time to locate you."

"Pray be careful in what you say," said Uys. "You are not an Englishman?"

"I am not," said Morton, "but I fight under the British flag."

"You belong to the New Zealand corps called Rangers," said Uys in a peculiar tone of voice. "You see we burghers can beat your boasted Intelligence Department. Bah! the British Government with their hundreds of thousands of rooibaatjes cannot beat a few simple farmers;" and Uys gave vent to a loud laugh.

The Boer went on: "We want to catch a man of your regiment. Morton is his name. You know him, I suppose?"

"I decline to answer any of your questions," replied the trooper firmly.

"Well, when you reach your corps, you might tell this Morton, that if we catch him, a sjambokking awaits him, followed by a dose of lead. He has already killed five of my best men."

Jack Lovat was listening with bated breath to the conversation, and he wondered at the cool courage displayed by the New Zealander.

Piet Van Donnop came forward in answer to something put to him by the Boer leader.

"How is your father, Jack?" asked Piet; "and I must not forget your mother and little Mary. I suppose she is quite a woman by now."

"They are all right," replied Jack. "I never thought you would have joined the rebels, Piet."

"And why not, Jack?" asked Piet. "They are my own flesh and blood, and I am only fighting for my own. The commandant wishes me to ask you how many troopers are quartered at the Kopje Farm? I ought to have been there now, but I am acting as despatch rider for the commando."

The question was put in Dutch, a language Morton was not conversant with.

"The commandant had better find out for himself. You will get a warm reception if you go to the Kopje Farm," replied Jack testily.

"That is just what we are going to do," said Van Donnop. "I have my brother Jan's death to avenge. I have heard he is dead."

"But not on my father, Piet?" queried Jack. "His only fault is that of being a loyalist. You had better tell the commandant to leave the Kopje Farm severely alone, if his men don't want to receive a shock from which they will not soon recover."

Piet laughed at this, after which he said, "All right, Jack, you have to come with us. Your friend will remain where he is until we come back for him."

"No, I won't leave him," cried Jack. Turning to Morton, he went on: "They want me to go along with them and leave you here, but Jack Lovat is hardly built that way."

The trooper stared, and there was a world of meaning in the glance he bestowed on Jack. The glance said quite plainly, "Go," and the look was accentuated by a slight nod.

"We must trouble you for those boots," said the commandant. "No, we want nothing else. I see the spurs are pretty well worn. It won't be policy on your part to offer any resistance. Hans Erasmus," calling to one of his men, "you are badly in need of a pair of boots. Take these," and he pointed to Morton's boots. The Boer, an unkempt fellow, whose clothes were almost in rags, certainly was in need of foot-gear, for the soles had left the uppers, and his toes protruded from beneath the untanned leather. To Jack's surprise, Morton made no resistance, but allowed the Boer to annex the boots.

The latter soon transferred them to his own feet, and expressed his satisfaction at the exchange by uttering a guttural "Ach!"

"You are wounded?" said Uys, addressing Morton.

"I would not be here talking to you if I had not been," replied the trooper. "It is a mere scratch, though. You don't use expanding bullets, or explosive ones, for that matter. It is very good of you, I'm sure."

"Don't be sarcastic, my good man. You are quite sure you can make yourself comfortable till we come back?"

"I shall be all right," replied Morton. "The sooner you leave me the better I shall like it."

Commandant Uys smiled. "You are rather a humorous sort of fellow. May I ask you one question?"

"As you please," answered Morton gruffly.

"How long will it take for you to reach the Kopje Farm? Don't stare, my man. We are pretty well informed as to all movements made by the rooibaatjes. I should ask you to unstrip your tunic, but that would be a waste of energy, because you Colonials who act as scouts carry no identity cards. I am afraid we must inconvenience you for a little time. You shall not, however, go hungry. Stephanus, a piece of biltong for the rooinek. You will like it, for it is good fare while serving on the veldt."

Saying this, Commandant Uys strode out of the cave to where his burghers were standing near their horses.

A minute later, Morton, whether against his wish or not, found his ankles firmly secured by a piece of hide rope. His hands had been left unbound, but without a knife it was an impossibility to set himself free, and that instrument had been taken from him.

Jack Lovat was compelled to mount one of the spare horses belonging to the sections of the commando, and to his infinite satisfaction found that the horses' heads were turned in the direction of Rheni Kop, instead of the Kopje Farm. A bullet between his ribs from the rifle of a Britisher was too unpleasant a possibility to contemplate, so he felt devoutly thankful when he found himself proceeding in an opposite direction.

Glances full of meaning had passed between Jack and Morton, and the latter knew that his boy-friend would leave no stone unturned to assist him from his unenviable position.

After leaving the cave, the Boers rode straight on Rheni Kop, Piet Donnop being alongside our friend Jack.

"What brings you here, Lovat?" asked Piet in English, and speaking in a whisper. "Diamond Valley seems to have an attraction for you."

"And for you as well, I should say," retorted Jack.

"Looking after gold, or what?" queried Piet.

"I was not aware that gold is to be found in these parts," answered Jack. "What do you mean by roaming about the country, robbing and molesting peaceable inhabitants? Do you know anything about the five hundred sovereigns my father lost only yesterday?"

A flush spread over the Dutchman's swarthy face as he answered, "I have had none of Mr. Lovat's sovereigns."

"Then you know about the way my father has been treated?" Jack asked.

Piet evaded the question, and merely said, "I am sorry we came up with you to-day, Lovat. I, at least, bear you no ill-will; but I would strongly advise you to keep your tongue still and ask no ugly questions. It is unfortunate that we met you. Does your wound pain you?"

"Only a slight stiffness and soreness inconveniences me--that is all," answered Jack. "By the way, where are we bound for?"

"Number one, ugly question," replied Piet. "I may as well tell you that you won't see Kopje Farm to-night, and most probably not to-morrow."

"And what about my friend whom you have tied up in the cave? You will surely never leave him to starve?" queried Jack.

"By no means," answered Piet, with a laugh. "He will be released in good time--that is, when the commandant thinks fit. Christian Uys has something up his sleeve." The last sentence was uttered in a whisper.

"And what is that, Van Donnop?"

"Ugly question, number two," was the Dutchman's response. "You know what you Britishers say, 'The third time is catching-time.' I am right, I suppose?"

After that, Jack Lovat held his peace, but did not forget to use his eyes. Life on the veldt had taught him many lessons. Like the Red Indians of the western prairies, Jack had studied rocks, flowers, the sun, moon, and stars in their various phases, and in veldt-craft was becoming a past-master.

For an hour the commando rode ahead, and when halted by order of Christian Uys, had passed round Rheni Kop, which now stood four or five miles on their left flank.

The Boers debouched on a grassy plain, very limited in extent, and surrounded by little flat-topped kopjes.

To Jack's immense surprise, he saw forty or fifty waggons and Cape carts on the plain. Several hundred horses and many head of oxen were grazing on the veldt, and at least two hundred additional burghers were in the laager.

These formed the major portion of the formidable Christian Uys's commando, and Jack Lovat as he passed into the laager thought he had never seen such a motley crew.

Many of the burghers glanced at Jack from beneath their bushy eyebrows, bestowing ominous scowls on the young Britisher, which he answered with a haughty stare.

The burghers off-saddled, and after giving their horses a feed of mealies, began to refresh themselves with a repast of biltong, biscuits, and jam.

Jack was placed under a guard, one of whom he was glad to find was Piet Van Donnop. Under his protection our hero knew that he would receive no ill-treatment.

Van Donnop insisted upon Jack receiving medical treatment from a burgher who had walked a Berlin hospital, but whose indiscretions had caused him to be expelled before he took his degree.

Dirck Hartmann, for such was the medico's name, proved a very agreeable sort of young fellow, and showed great kindness to Jack. He examined the boy's wound, and found that a bullet had passed through the fleshy inner portion of the arm, luckily without touching an artery. As Jack said, it was a scratch--an ugly one it must be said; but the prompt application of the field dressing by Morton had minimised the loss of blood. The limb felt stiff and sore--that was all.

"You will see that this young fellow has good treatment," said Hartmann to Piet Van Donnop, as he left Jack.

"Certainly, doctor," was Piet's reply. "He is in safe hands with me;" for which Jack thanked him.

As the sun was on the point of dropping below the horizon, the Boer sentries were planted on the kopjes surrounding the plateau, and Jack was ordered to crawl into a waggon, on the floor of which were spread several layers of empty mealie bags.

Before he went to roost, Jack's observant eyes had been busy. He noticed with keen interest the picketing of the horses in the immediate vicinity, and deep satisfaction sprang up in his breast as he thought of a sharp bowie knife which he carried in the leg of one of his high boots.

He had made a strong resolve to get away from the laager before morning broke, and he determined that nothing short of utter disablement would prevent him from accomplishing his purpose.

The resolve was strengthened by a conversation he overheard between two burghers, soon after darkness fell. Jack's thoughts were passing between the bowie knife, secreted in his boot, and the picketed horses. Among the latter was a beautiful roan, evidently the property of a field-cornet or other officer.

His mind also wandered to the Kopje Farm. He wondered what they were doing, and if Major Salkeld and his men had departed for Springbokfontein. Then he thought of Morton lying bound in the cave in Diamond Valley.

Jack had stretched himself on the mealie sacks when he heard his family name mentioned, and his ears were all attention in a moment.

"Hans," said a voice in a low whisper, "the rooineks will have no chance at all. Johann Klaasen has just come in, and reports that thirty of them are leaving the Kopje Farm for Springbokfontein in the early dawn to-morrow. That is good news, for every man of them will be shot down before they have proceeded two miles on their journey. Half of the commando--one hundred and fifty strong--have left for Langeman's Nek, where there is abundant shelter for our men. These New Zealanders boast about never requiring quarter. They will get none;" and a low chuckle followed.

Jack Lovat's breath came thick and fast. He knew Langeman's Nek very well, and as the speaker hinted, he knew it formed an admirable place of ambush.

The minutes seemed to pass on leaden wings to the British youth so strangely confined in the camp of a savage enemy. Jack's mind was made up. He would use his utmost endeavour to escape from the laager, and if he could not secure the roan mare, make his way on foot to the Kopje Farm, provided no other mount came in his way.

At last complete silence reigned in the laager, and Jack cautiously raised himself on his elbow and peered over the side of the waggon. His sense of hearing was overstrained by his peculiar and dangerous position. He thought he heard the flap of a rifle-strap as if it struck the barrel of a Mauser rifle, and lay quietly down again.

A few minutes later, he again pulled himself up, and without noise clambered over the side of the waggon, then dropped on the ground. His wounded arm caused him much pain, but he set his teeth and bore it bravely. The night was a black one, but his keen eyesight informed him that the picketed horses had been removed from the vicinity of the waggon.

Jack fell on his hands and knees, and crawled forward, cautiously winding his way between the wheels of several waggons.

At last he was clear of the laager, and the ring of pickets only had to be passed. Still on his hands and knees he crept, his heart beating violently, and sharp pains darting through his temples. If only he could get safely through, he would trust to Providence to guide him safely to the Kopje Farm.

A gaunt figure, standing by a horse, attracted his attention, and a voice called out in Dutch, "Who goes there?" The question was followed by an ominous clicking sound. Jack still crawled forward, his right hand now gripping the bowie knife. His strength was almost exhausted, and the pain in his arm increased in severity.

With rare courage and determination, Jack sprang to his feet, plunged the bowie knife into the chest of the bewildered sentry, who immediately fell, at the same time relaxing his grasp of the horse's reins. It took but a moment for Jack to mount, and digging his spurless boots into the sides of the commandeered property, he darted across the veldt.