"Take the horse, Tom," he said. "I've a fancy for keeping the nigger in sight. We're not running any risks this trip. Tell 'em at the hotel that I'm spending the night with a friend, and will be back for breakfast in the morning. You're in plenty of time for the train. Get to the Bank as soon as it opens, and when you receive the packet take it to Colonel Grey, and deliver it into his hands." "And you?" Hayhurst asked, eager to undertake the mission; yet firmly convinced that the final delivery of the letters to the Colonel was a privilege that by rights should be Lawless'. "I'm entertaining Van Bleit," Lawless replied. Tom Hayhurst glanced in the direction of their prisoner, and from him towards the cart where the whip stood invitingly in the socket, suggesting thoughts of retribution pleasing to dwell upon. "I'd like to see you mark his face before I go," he said. He pointed to the whip. "Shall I fetch it?" he asked. "You fetch your mount and clear out," Lawless answered. "When I horsewhip a man I don't do it with his hands tied." Hayhurst gave the speaker a quick look. Then he walked towards the tree where the horse was fastened, unhitched it, and sprang into the saddle. "So long, Grit," he sang out. He blew a kiss to Van Bleit as he cantered past. "You'll fancy yourself an Indian Brave when you wear my wig on your watch-chain," he cried. Van Bleit scowled yet more fiercely, and consoled himself with planning future vengeance against this impudent impostor to whom he owed his downfall. If ever fortune played into his hands he would have Tom Hayhurst's life. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. Lawless had during a chequered career spent many an eventful night round a camp fire, but no more strange experience had he passed through than on that night, guarding Van Bleit on the open veld. The night was cold, with a fresh wind blowing. The Kaffir, who remained greatly against his will, but dared not openly refuse to stay for fear of the baas of the scarred face and compelling eye, gathered wood and made a fire, before which Lawless sat with his revolver at his hand, and Van Bleit stretched himself on the cushions that had been taken from the cart and flung down on the veld. He feigned slumber, but did not actually close his eyes throughout the night. He watched his captor incessantly, hoping that sleep would overtake him; but Lawless sat wakeful and alert, with his eyes upon the flames, only moving at long intervals when he rose to throw fresh wood upon the fire. There was nothing to eat, and only a small quantity of spirit in Van Bleit's flask. The Kaffir had a pocketful of mealies which he chewed before the fire. Close by their uitspan was a watercourse from whence he fetched water in small quantities in the empty flask.