"What are you, then?" "Making a mistake, it seems," he replied. "But your people are Boers?" "They're going to beat them," he replied, "as soon as they get a chance. Have you seen them up the Nek yonder?" "Yes; I was running away from them. They were shooting at us last night." "Hi; Robsy! Steady there!" roared my new acquaintance. "Steady, I say! Friends.--You, Black Jack, put down that spear, or it'll be the worse for you.--It's all right, sir," he continued as a grey-haired, military-looking man now rode up, followed by half-a-dozen more. "This is an Englishman running away from the Boers." "Then he's not an Englishman," said the officer sharply. "Here, arrest this man.--Now then, give an account of yourself, for you look confoundedly like a spy. Here, some one, cut that black fellow down if he resists." "Be quiet, Joeboy," I cried; "these are friends." Joeboy dropped into a peaceable attitude and stood scowling at the horsemen who surrounded us. "Now, sir," said the officer, "why don't you speak?" "Because you called me a spy," I said. "Well, that seems to be what you are, you young scoundrel. How many of your friends are there up yonder?" "I don't know," I said. "Say `sir' when you speak to a gentleman," cried the officer angrily, "and no nonsense. Speak out--the truth if you don't want to be shot." "Of course I don't want to be shot," I said scornfully; "and I'm not in the habit of telling lies." "How many Boers are there, then, up in the pass?" "I don't know," I said. "We crept by them in the dark." "Why? To come and see what forces we had here?" "No," I said. "Then why did you come?" "To get away from the Boers." "Why did you want to get away from them?" cried the officer, gazing at me searchingly. I was so hot and indignant that I would not speak for some little time. "I thought so. Making up a good story--eh? You've caught the first spy, Lieutenant." "No, sir, I think not," said the young officer. "I think you have.--Now, sir," he continued, "if you wish to save your skin, speak out. Why did you want to get away from the Boers?" "Because I was commandoed," I said rather sulkily. "Oh, then you were afraid to fight--eh?" "No; but I was not going to fight my own countrymen." "Oh!" said the officer, staring. "Here, tell me, how were you summoned?" I told him, and that the party was led by an Irishman named Moriarty. "Ah! yes, I know him. Tall, handsome, dashing young Irish cavalier-- isn't he?" "No," I said; "a middle-aged, bullying, ruffianly sort of a fellow, with a red nose," I replied. "Humph! Then where do you come from?" "Cameldorn Farm." "Eh? Hullo!" cried the young man who had captured me. "I say, take off your hat." "What for?" I asked. "Because I want to look at you. How's that scratch you got on the arm from the lioness?" "What do you know about the scratch?" I said, leaning forward to look the speaker full in the eyes.