“No,” I answered, “when I said that I would shoot with a bullet I meant a whole bullet, not one that had been sawn in pieces and fixed together again, so that after it left the muzzle it might spread out like shot.  But I do not wish to talk about the matter.  It is in the hands of the Heer Pieter Retief, who will give judgment as it pleases him.”

Now, much excited argument ensued among the Boers, in the midst of which Marie managed to whisper to me unheard: 

“Oh!  I am glad, Allan, for whatever they may decide, you won, and the omen is good.”

“I don’t see what geese have to do with omens, sweetheart,” I answered—­“that is, since the time of the ancient Romans.  Anyhow, I should say that the omens are bad, for there is going to be a row presently.”

Just then Retief put up his hand, calling out: 

“Silence!  I have decided.  The writing of the match did not say that the bullets were not to be cut, and therefore Hernan Pereira’s birds must count.  But that writing does say that any bird accidentally killed should not count, and therefore one goose must be subtracted from Pereira’s total, which leaves the two shooters equal.  So either the match is dead or, since the geese have ceased to come, it must be shot off another day.”

“Oh! if there is any question,” said Pereira, who felt that public opinion was much against him, “let the Englishman take the money.  I dare say that he needs it, as the sons of missionaries are not rich.”

“There is no question,” I said, “since, rich or poor, not for a thousand pounds would I shoot again against one who plays such tricks.  Keep your money, Mynheer Pereira, and I will keep my mare.  The umpire has said that the match is dead, so everything is finished.”

“Not quite,” interrupted Retief, “for I have a word to say.  Friend Allan, you have played fair, and I believe that there is no one who can shoot like you in Africa.”

“That is so,” said the audience of Boers.

“Mynheer Pereira,” went on Retief, “although you, too, are a fine shot, as is well known, I believe that had you played fair also you would have been beaten, but as it is you have saved your hundred pounds.  Mynheer Pereira,” he added in a great voice, “you are a cheat, who have brought disgrace upon us Boers, and for my part I never want to shake your hand again.”

Now, at these outspoken words, for when his indignation was aroused Retief was no measurer of language, Pereira’s high-coloured face went white as a sheet.

“Mein Gott, mynheer,” he said, “I am minded to make you answer for such talk,” and his hand went to the knife at his girdle.

“What!” shouted Retief, “do you want another shooting match?  Well, if so I am ready with whole bullets or with split ones.  None shall say that Pieter Retief was afraid of any man, and, least of all, of one who is not ashamed to try to steal a prize as a hyena steals a bone from a lion.  Come on, Hernan Pereira, come on!”