The Gold Kloof. H. A. Bryden
you. Put on a bold face, and stick to me; I'll see that your friend Engelbrecht plays no tricks upon you. Remember that you are in my service, and that we are in Portuguese and not Boer country."
They watched the two tall figures, on which Poeskop's eyes were fastened, coming up the street. The Bushman whispered that Karl Engelbrecht was the bigger of the two-the man on the right. The Boers-for they were manifestly both Dutchmen-were now close to the hotel. Karl Engelbrecht, of whom Poeskop stood in so much terror, was a typical Boer of Boers-a big, heavy, slouching fellow, six feet in height, powerfully made, very strong, but slack and loose-limbed. He wore the usual Boer clothing-short jacket and loose trousers of moleskin, a flannel shirt, velschoens (field-shoes) of untanned hide, and a big slouch-hat, ornamented with a single short black-and-white ostrich plume. His long hay-coloured hair ran over his ears and partly covered his neck, and he wore a huge untrimmed beard and moustache of the same dull hue. His hard, pale blue eyes were set deep above broad, sunburnt, fleshy cheeks. It was an unpleasant face; something in the lowering brows, the hard, furtive eyes, gave the beholder instantly an unpleasant impression; and about the man's whole demeanour there was an undefinable yet unmistakable air of menace and brutality. The Dutchman accompanying him was of a much milder and less aggressive type-a big, dark-bearded, slouching fellow, of dull and heavy countenance, with nothing much to differentiate him from scores of his fellows of the Transvaal, Orange Free State, and Cape Colony.
As Karl Engelbrecht strode up to the hotel, his eyes suddenly fell upon Poeskop. He started, frowned evilly, glowered at the three white men standing near, and then, taking a step or two forward, seized the Bushman by the collar of his jacket.
"So, my fine fellow, I have caught you, have I?" he said, in a deep guttural and manifestly angry voice. As he spoke, he cuffed the unfortunate Bushman heavily on the head with his huge hand.
Mr. Blakeney was a strong and determined man, and in no mood to stand by and see his servant knocked about. His blood rose instantly at the insolent aggression of this bully.
"Let the man alone!" he said angrily in Dutch, snatching Poeskop away so suddenly and with such force that he freed him from the Boer's grip. "He is my servant!"
Karl Engelbrecht turned instantly upon the Englishman. His face was inflamed with passion, and he struck a heavy blow with his right fist, which, if it had not been parried, would have caught Mr. Blakeney fair in the face. But the latter had been a good boxer in his young days, and had no difficulty in stopping the hit. He was an active man, hard as nails, and in the prime of life, and he was in no mood to take a blow from any man. He retorted by a swift left-hander, which crashed into the middle of the Boer's broad, fleshy face like a kick from a horse. The blood instantly gushed from Engelbrecht's nose. With an oath in Dutch the giant rushed upon his assailant, swinging at him some dangerous right-handers; but Mr. Blakeney, although angry enough, was much too good a general to be overcome in this way. He fought very coolly, parried the round-arm blows, and every now and again planted on the Dutchman's face heavy and telling strokes that quickly told their tale. Pausing to get breath, to spit the blood from his mouth, and to wipe his streaming nose with the back of his hand, the Dutchman once more rushed in to the attack. This time he fought desperately, and Mr. Blakeney had some ado to repel the rush. Changing his tactics, he delivered two or three heavy body-blows, under which the Dutchman winced visibly; the third of these took the Boer's wind, and doubled him up. As his head went forward, the Englishman let drive one vicious upper cut which took Engelbrecht on the point of the jaw and stretched him instantly on the sand. The fight was over.
Chapter V.
THE TREK BEGINS
Karl Engelbrecht gathered himself up after a short pause, but there was no further fight left in him. He turned to go.
"All right, my fine Englishman," he said, shaking his fist at his conqueror. "I don't know who you are or what you are, but no one does Karl Engelbrecht an injury without paying for it. I shall be even with you, and that before very long. Meanwhile I shall go straight to the magistrate's office, and get that scoundrel arrested for running away from my service."
As he spoke he pointed to Poeskop, who was smiling all over his yellow face at his former master's discomfiture.
"And I'll follow you to the magistrate's office directly," said Mr. Blakeney, "and have you summoned for assaulting this native."
Accompanied by the two lads, who were overjoyed, if a little awed, at the result of the contest, Mr. Blakeney went into the hotel to wash his hands and get rid of all traces of the encounter. He himself had scarcely suffered at all. He had a lump on his forehead and a red patch on his cheek-bone, and one of his knuckles was badly cut; beyond these slight injuries he has untouched.
"My word, uncle," said Guy, as Mr. Blakeney took his coat off and poured out some water, "you did punish that ruffian. I had no idea you were such a fighting man. It was splendid!"
"Well, boys," returned Mr. Blakeney, "I don't like fighting, and I have always made it a point to avoid a scuffle if it can possibly be done. But sometimes there comes an occasion when a man must take his own part. This was one of them. I couldn't stand by and see that hulking bully knocking Poeskop about. My idea is that every decent Englishman, or English boy, should be able to defend himself when compelled to, and for that reason I believe in every lad being taught to box. My old boxing lessons stood me in good stead just now. I suppose the Boer was at least a couple of stone heavier than myself; but he knew no more about fighting than a baby, and he paid the penalty."
He soused his face in cold water, washed his hands, and with the two lads and Poeskop went off to the magistrate's office. The upshot of the affair was that Karl Engelbrecht was proved to be entirely in the wrong. It was shown that he had persistently maltreated Poeskop, and that he had seldom if ever paid him his rightful wages. Other natives in the town, who were under Portuguese rule, but who had served with Engelbrecht, could speak to these facts. In the end the Boer was fined for assaulting the Bushman, and ordered to pay him a further sum of money due for unpaid wages. The Dutchman paid the money with a wry face, and it was clear that he was yet more inflamed with hatred against Poeskop and his English supporters than he had been before.
But for the most part the people of Mossamedes, including the governor of the town and other officials, were delighted at the punishment inflicted on the big Boer. He was known and feared as a quarrelsome bully, and now some one had been found to check his blustering career and cut his comb. Mr. Blakeney was advised privately, after these occurrences, to keep his eyes open. Karl Engelbrecht was a man of evil reputation, who would not be likely to stop at trifles in the achievement of revenge, and revenge he was known to have vowed. In the town nothing would be attempted, but in the veldt such a ruffian might very well try to do mischief. However, Mr. Blakeney treated the matter very coolly. He was well able to take care of himself, he said; and having wide experience of the veldt and veldt ways, he felt perfectly competent to set at naught the blusterings of Karl Engelbrecht and his followers. The big Dutchman, having got over the effects of the fight, was having a good time in Mossamedes. For some time past the Portuguese Government had been employing the Trek Boers settled in their territory as mercenaries in their warfare against any tribes that happened to give trouble. The Boers took their payment chiefly in cattle, raided from the defeated tribesfolk; and Engelbrecht, who had been lately leading a commando against some unfortunate natives, had returned with much plunder in oxen and goats. These he had sold for good prices; his pockets were full of money, and he and his freebooting associates were bent on having a high time at the various bars and canteens of the place.
It is perhaps necessary to explain here, in a few words, how it came about that Boers were thus to be found in Portuguese territory, so far away from the homes of the South African Dutch stock settled in the Transvaal. Nearly twenty years before, many families of Boers, disgusted with the anarchy and bad government of the Transvaal Republic, and embittered yet more at the English taking over the country, as they had done in 1877, had quitted the Transvaal and trekked north-westward across the desert in search of a new Promised Land, which they believed to exist somewhere in the far interior. These ignorant and misguided folk found in their long wanderings no land of Canaan, flowing, as they had fondly hoped, with milk and honey. Their trek extended over several years; they endured almost unexampled privations and troubles from thirst, fevers, and the attacks of natives; scores