Almighty, how they used to talk there!--clack, clack, clack! just like
an old black _koran_ (species of bustard) at sunset. And where did they
run the waggon of the Republic to--Burghers and those damned Hollanders
of his, and the rest of them? Why, into the _sluit_--into a _sluit_ with
peaty banks; and there it would have stopped till now, or till the flood
came down and swept it away, if old Shepstone--ah! what a tongue that
man has, and how fond he is of the _kinderchies!_ (little children)--had
not come and pulled it out again. But look here, Captain, the _volk_
round here don't think like that. It's the '_verdomde Britische
Gouvernment_' here and the '_verdomde Britische Gouvernment_' there, and
_bymakaars_ (meetings) here and _bymakaars_ there. Silly folk, they all
run one after the other like sheep. But there it is, Captain, and I tell
you there will be fighting before long, and then our people will shoot
those poor _rooibaatjes_ of yours like buck, and take the land back.
Poor things! I could weep when I think of it."

John smiled at this melancholy prognostication, and was about to explain
what a poor show all the Boers in the Transvaal would make in front of a
few British regiments, when he was astonished by a sudden change in his
friend's manner. Dropping his enormous paw on to his shoulder, Coetzee
broke into a burst of somewhat forced merriment, the cause of which,
though John did not guess it at the moment, was that he had just
perceived Frank Muller, who was in Wakkerstroom with a waggon-load of
corn to grind at the mill, standing within five yards, and apparently
intensely interested in flipping at the flies with a cowrie made of the
tail of a vilderbeeste, but in reality listening to Coetzee's talk with
all his ears.

"Ha, ha! _nef_ (nephew)," said old Coetzee to the astonished John, "no
wonder you like Mooifontein--there are other _mooi_ (pretty) things