"Why, you’re as niggardly as a Boer with your cartridges," said Mr. Blakeney, with a laugh. "I’ve often told you that you don’t carry enough for emergencies. Here, when we’re in a tight place and may want every bullet we’ve got, you’re short." "The baas is right," said Poeskop apologetically. "I’ll never come so short again. Never mind. Perhaps I may find some more in Karl Engelbrecht’s camp; who knows?" "Well, don’t play the fool and do anything rash," added his master. "What we want to do is to rescue Baas Guy, and get away. At our own camp we have plenty of rifles and cartridges, and, with our other men, can give a good account of Karl Engelbrecht and all his blackguards." Guy, meanwhile, had passed the day by no means comfortably. He had been duly fed, it is true, his hands being untied for the purpose; but while they trekked he had been fastened up again, and placed on Engelbrecht’s kartel in the forepart of the Boer wagon. There he lay throughout the long, hot day, wondering what his people were doing after discovering his absence, and what was to be the upshot of his captivity. At evening, after they had passed into the kloof and the entrance had been barricaded, he was taken down from the wagon and placed by the camp fire, where, his hands being again unbound, he was supplied with meat, bread, and coffee. Having made a respectable meal, Guy felt somewhat more cheerful; and the liberty of his hands being allowed him for half an hour further, he was enabled to stretch himself, chafe his benumbed wrists, and restore the circulation. He noticed various circumstances as he looked about him. Karl Engelbrecht and Minho kept themselves pretty much to themselves, sitting at their own fire, and engaging in a good deal of earnest conversation. Once the big Boer got up and stretched himself, and came over to the fire at which Guy sat. Here were gathered the five natives comprising Engelbrecht’s retinue--a villainous-looking Griqua, who had special charge of Guy, two Hottentots, and a couple of Bihé natives. The Boer looked fixedly at the English lad, but said not a word to him. He addressed a few sentences to his servants; told Thebus, the Griqua, to fasten up his captive’s hands again, and look sharply after him during the night; and stalked back to his own fire.