At dusk our hero arrived at a wayside hotel. His horse was now thoroughly tired. He saw that he would have to stay here several hours, unless he wanted his horse to give in. His first inquiry was for forage, which luckily was to be had in any quantity at a big price. After having seen his horse well fed and rubbed down, Steve went into the house and asked for some supper. Some cold meat, bread, butter and coffee was placed before him, and he made as good a meal of it as could be expected. After supper, he asked for a room to lie down for a few hours. He was shown a room not very clean and neat; still a tired man could at least rest in it; besides, beggars could not be choosers. But before lying down, Steve went out to once more see his horse supplied with forage. As he was superintending the cutting up of the oat sheaves, the proprietor--whom he had not yet seen--came up to him. After a few introductory remarks between them, his host asked him in English where he was going. He replied in the same language, with as pure an accent as the Englishman’s own, that he was going to Krugersdorp. ‘Have you heard the glorious news?’ asked the host. ‘No; what is it?’ ‘The Boers and Jameson have met, and Jameson has defeated the Boers, killing three hundred of them.’ Steve turned pale in the dark. He could hardly speak at first. At last he managed to say,-- ‘How do you know this?’ ‘I have just come back from our post-office, where I had been to get some news. I there met a man who had left the battlefield at noon; it was near Krugersdorp; he had been riding post-haste to carry despatches somewhere. He says it was an awful sight to see it. Jameson’s troops were simply mowing the Boers down with Maxims and Nordenfelds. The Boers had no Maxims or field-pieces, and could simply do nothing with their rifles against the troopers.’ ‘But who is this despatch rider? Can his story be believed?’