cattle would not rouse their ire. Our elaborate preparations were
wasted, for the Boers did not come. The weary hours dragged on, the sun
crawled across the steely blue heavens, and finally sank, almost
grudgingly, it seemed, into the west, leaving the coast clear for the
glorious full moon; the stars came out one by one; the goats and kids
came wandering back to the homestead with loud bleatings; and presently
everything seemed to sleep--everything except our strained nerves and
aching eyes, which had looked all day for Boers, and above all for news,
and had looked in vain.

We still continued to have alarms. One day we saw a horseman wrapped in
a long cloak up to his chin, surmounted by a huge slouch hat, ride into
the yard. Mrs. Keeley exclaimed it was certainly a Boer, and that he had
no doubt come to arrest Mr. Keeley. I was positive the unknown was an
Englishman, but she was so shrewd that I really believed her, and kept
out of sight as she directed, while she sent her brother to question
him. It turned out that the rider was the same _Daily Mail_
correspondent who had cut his way out of Mafeking in order to send his
cables, and that he was now on his way back to the besieged town. The
growth of a two weeks' beard had given him such an unkempt appearance as
to make even sharp Mrs. Keeley mistake him for a Boer. He had had an
interesting if risky ride, which he appeared to have accomplished with
energy and dash, if perhaps with some imprudence.[30]

It was the continued dearth of news, not only concerning Mafeking, but
also of what was going on in the rest of South Africa, that made me at
length endeavour to get news from Vryburg. As a first step I lent Dop to
a young Dutchman named Brevel, who was anxious to go to that township to
sell some fat cattle. This youth, who belonged to a respectable Boer
family--of course heart and soul against the English--was overwhelmed