Boer farmers had trekked in from almost a hundred miles away, and I have never seen so many great bearded men in my life. With their great slouch hats and heavy boots, they could be seen swinging along the streets in all directions. There were literally thousands of kaffirs, Mapors, Swazis, Makateese, and Zulus, who belonged to the various parties of Boers and who kept close to them as they wandered about Belfast. Some of the native tribes were at war at that time, I remember, and there was some fear that there might be an outbreak in the town. This fear was quelled, however, when word was passed that the first kaffir who raised a hand would be shot on sight by the nearest Boer. He would have been, too, because the Boers never hesitate when dealing with the blacks. Always our people have been firm in their dealings with the natives, with the result that they have a wholesome respect for us. It is the English, newly arrived in the Transvaal, who make all the trouble with the kaffirs. Particularly do the English and American missionaries create dissension among them. They give the kaffirs mistaken ideas about their importance in the scheme of things and lead them to believe that they are as good as white people. Taking it all in all, they have created more trouble than they have done good. The missionaries seldom change their teachings, but the Englishmen soon wake up and after they have been in our country for about a year know how to treat the natives. There was no trouble in Belfast, although it was said that there were several combats outside the town in which about a score of blacks were killed and wounded. Our arrival for the races must have been quite an impressive event. My father on his great horse, wearing his silk hat, led the procession. Then all his sons and several of the girls followed, on horses also, and then came my mother in a light road-wagon. After her came our horses, led by Mapors, and behind them came several hundred of our retainers, all decked out in their festival costumes and carrying their short spears and knob-kerries, or fighting clubs. Oom Tuys met us at the edge of the town. He was riding a great roan horse and was accompanied by a number of father's friends. From his gestures I knew that he was excited, and I slyly pressed my horse forward until I could hear what he was saying. "The Johannesburgers have brought their best," he told father. "Slim Gert, you will have to have all the luck in the world to beat their horses. Never have I seen better! They have also brought much money and are waiting for you to bet. Will you bet with them? I advise you not to. They have the best jockeys in the Transvaal, too!" "We shall see; we shall see," was all father would say. "They are at the hotel and they wait for you," Oom Tuys went on. "I told them that I would bring you to them." My father seemed to start at this, and I saw him look sharply at Tuys. Then the color mounted in his cheek.