“My nephews,” said the first-comer to us, “you must not take it amiss, but it is my duty to arrest you!”

“What for, uncle?”

“For being suspected of spying.  You must either accompany me back to my farm, or let me take your horses there, so as to prevent your leaving here during the night.”

“All right, uncle, take the horses, but don’t forget to feed them well.  But perhaps it would spare you trouble if you read our papers.”

“It is easy to forge papers,” said the old man.  His companion now boiled over and broke in—­

“No, no!  We’ve got you right enough!  What else can you be but cursed spies, riding about the country like this?”

“I don’t wish to argue with you,” I replied, angered by his brutal manner.  “I’m as true a burgher as you are, to say the least, and I warn you that I shall hold you responsible for what you do or say.”

“Oh! oh!  Responsible?  We are our own Government now.  And where are your arms?  Spies!”

“I see you have a gun, but perhaps that is only because you’ve had no chance to lay it down.”

“What!  Yes, I’ve got a gun, and I’ll prove it to you!” he shouted, pointing the weapon at me.

“Just like a cowardly bully to threaten an unarmed man!  But,” I added gently, “you’ll feel differently to-morrow.”

“Will I?  Why?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of his rage.

“You’ll be sober then.”  This only incensed him the more, but he saw that he had gone too far, and contented himself with uttering a few half-intelligible threats.  We then went out to the stable, gave them our horses, and went to bed.

I woke just as dawn was breaking.  Before the door stood the son of the house, his gun in his hand.

“Hello, you are up early,” I said.  He looked rather confused.

“To tell the truth, I have been guarding you all night.  But all the same, I don’t believe that you are spies.  Come and have some coffee.”

We had just finished our coffee when we heard horses’ hoofs coming along the road, and presently one of our friends from the farm near Greylingstad entered the room.

“I’ve brought your horses,” he said, smiling merrily.  “I passed the old field-cornet’s this morning and told him I could certify that you are no spies.”

Whilst we were saddling up the field-cornet and his companion of the night before arrived.  The latter was now sober.  They were profuse in apologies.

“You were angry last night because we had no rifles; you had more reason to be glad,” I remarked to the field-cornet’s assistant.

“Why?”

“Because if I had been armed I might have been imprudent enough to blow your brains out when you pointed your gun at me.  And how awful that would have been!”

“Man,” he said, “it’s the cursed drink.”

“Well,” said I, “it’s all over now.  Good-bye!” Off we went—­my comrade, myself, and the man who had brought our horses, Delange.  The latter had an achter ryder and two spare horses.  Towards noon we reached the farm of one of Delange’s friends.  My mount was now thoroughly done up, having eaten almost nothing for three days.  I asked the farmer if he had a horse for sale.