would feel the weight of my boot.

The thing went on, and I am not sure that he did not give
the Kaffirs drink on the sly. At any rate, I have seen some very
drunk natives on the road between the locations and
Blaauwildebeestefontein, and some of them I recognized as Japp's
friends. I discussed the matter with Mr Wardlaw, who said, 'I
believe the old villain has got some sort of black secret, and the
natives know it, and have got a pull on him.' And I was
inclined to think he was right.


By-and-by I began to feel the lack of company, for Wardlaw
was so full of his books that he was of little use as a companion.
So I resolved to acquire a dog, and bought one from a
prospector, who was stony-broke and would have sold his soul
for a drink. It was an enormous Boer hunting-dog, a mongrel
in whose blood ran mastiff and bulldog and foxhound, and
Heaven knows what beside. In colour it was a kind of brindled
red, and the hair on its back grew against the lie of the rest of
its coat. Some one had told me, or I may have read it, that a
back like this meant that a dog would face anything mortal,
even to a charging lion, and it was this feature which first
caught my fancy. The price I paid was ten shillings and a pair
of boots, which I got at cost price from stock, and the owner
departed with injunctions to me to beware of the brute's
temper. Colin - for so I named him - began his career with
me by taking the seat out of my breeches and frightening Mr
Wardlaw into a tree. It took me a stubborn battle of a fortnight
to break his vice, and my left arm to-day bears witness to the