Steve’s horse went bravely on, but with slackened speed. We will not follow his further journey too closely; he met many people, all telling different tales as to the fortunes of war. One confirmed Captain Thatcher’s tale, while others totally denied it. Steve now found himself in the vicinity of Krugersdorp. It was Thursday, the third day since he had left his friends on the banks of the Vaal. He had travelled about one hundred and fifty miles or more during the forty-eight hours since he had left them. He was riding along as fast as his horse would go; for he knew he was reaching his journey’s end, and he could restrain his impatience no longer. He saw a man galloping towards him in a slanting direction, which would take him towards Krugersdorp. As the man approached near enough, he recognised him to be a newspaper reporter whom he had known in Pretoria. He stopped the reporter and inquired eagerly for news. ‘Oh! the Burghers are holding their own bravely. Since yesterday they have kept Jameson dancing about, trying to force his way through to Johannesburg, but in vain; Jameson can’t get any nearer Johannesburg. The Burghers are gradually enclosing him, and soon they will have him and his freebooters at their mercy.’ ‘Thank God! but how many Burghers have been killed?’ ‘Up to now, two or three at the most, and as many wounded, while Jameson has lost heavily all along.’ ‘What? You are fooling me!’ ‘Why?’ ‘Last night I heard a report, spread by one Captain Thatcher, a despatch rider of Jameson’s, that three hundred Boers were killed, and that Jameson had beaten the Boers.’ ‘It is a d----d lie!’ was the impolite but emphatic denial. ‘You can take my word for it that not more than two or three Boers are killed, and one was killed by accident in the dark by his own people, while the Boers have never been beaten yet by Jameson; on the contrary, the Boers have held Jameson in check all along, and have only been waiting for reinforcements and their artillery to carry Jameson and his troopers by storm.’ The reporter here stopped, and sat looking at Steve open-mouthed. The antics of this young man were really amusing, to say the least of it. He had rolled off his horse, and was now lying on his back, kicking his feet in the air, and now he was capering about on the grass, throwing summersault upon summersault, all the while shouting and laughing like one possessed. ‘I say, Joubert, stop that; are you mad? Get on your horse and go on; I have no time to look after a lunatic now, or to take you to the lunatic asylum.’ ‘I beg your pardon, old man; I had to do it, or I should really have gone mad from joy, but I am better now,’ said Steve, remounting his horse. ‘Where are you going to?’ he asked of the reporter. ‘Oh, I am off to town to send news to the _Pretoria Press_, which I represent here. And what do you intend doing?’ ‘I wish to join one of our commandos; where shall I find one?’