In a short time the driver’s assistant arrived with a message to the effect that the mules were lost and must have strayed away. The driver had gone farther to search for them. Steve was in despair. ‘My God!’ he cried, ‘what have I done that this should come to me? Would that I had never left Pretoria, then I might at least have been able to do something.’ ‘Keith, come with me like a good fellow and help me to bribe Nande into selling or hiring me a horse. I _must_ get away.’ ‘I will go with pleasure, Steve; but I am afraid that after last night’s scene, Nande will by no means be eager to render you a favour.’ They went, but in vain. Nande was still feeling very sore at the straightforward words of Steve, and refused absolutely to let him have a horse on any terms whatever. Steve offered to pay any price, but in vain. He attempted threats, but Nande was strong in the knowledge that in this case, law was on his side, and that Steve could not force him to give up his horse. ‘Well, Keith, old man, I am going to walk. Good-bye, and thank you for your kindness.’ Keith remonstrated in vain, telling him to wait until the mules were found, and that he could never arrive in time to catch the train if he walked, but Steve was mad with excitement. He felt that inaction was impossible; he must do something, and with one handshake he started on his way on foot. He walked fast and long. It soon began to rain, but he walked blindly on, on and on. ‘I must get on. If my people must fight for liberty I must be with them.’ He did not heed the water running into his shoes or streaming down his clothing. The road was very indistinct; the water was running over it, so that he was not sure always whether he was on the road or not. It was getting dark. Surely he ought to have reached the station by this time. He had walked six long hours, and he must have covered more than eighteen miles now. Where can the town be? He could barely walk now, he was so tired and so wet, but on and on he struggled. The strongest human passion possessed him: the passion of outraged patriotism. At last he saw a small building in front of him; it was only a small place, but he hoped to find somebody from whom he might inquire his whereabouts. He did find a man there. ‘Will you please tell me where I am, sir. I am afraid I have lost my way. I want to go to Vereeniging.’ ‘Why, sir, you are walking away from Vereeniging. You are about twenty-five miles from the station now. Where are you coming from?’ ‘I left about one o’clock from Nande’s Store on the Vaal River. I am afraid I must have taken the wrong road.’ ‘Yes, you must have taken the left instead of the right hand road, a few miles after you left Nande.’ ‘My God! what shall I do now?’ ‘Where do you wish to go to?’ ‘I want to reach Johannesburg or Krugersdorp as soon as possible.’ ‘Well, you are at least twenty miles nearer your destination now than when you left Nande, so your time is not altogether lost.’