They presently crossed the Orange River, and passed into Griqualand West. Kimberley was reached and left behind; in no great while they passed Fourteen Streams, and entered the rolling grass-veldt country of British Bechuanaland. Vryburg, the little capital of this colony, was presently left behind; and, a hundred miles farther north, they alighted, after their long journey, at Mafeking. Here they stayed the night at Dixon’s Hotel. Mafeking still showed some faint remnants of the excitement which had overtaken it when, some ten months earlier, Dr. Jameson and his raiders had marched from that neighbourhood on their madcap and ill-starred attempt upon the Transvaal. That evening, after dinner, Guy heard occasional references to that period, which interested him not a little. He saw, too, for the first time, some Transvaal Boers, who were in the town selling stock and buying various things that they required. Guy watched these men with a curious and a critical eye. So these were the people with whom England for a hundred years had had so much trouble and so many difficulties. As he watched the big burly fellows--slack and loose-limbed and clumsy they seemed to him, with their rough corduroy clothes, loose trousers, short jackets, slouch hats, great beards, and generally unkempt appearance--it was hard to realize that these were the men who had defeated British troops at Majuba Hill, Laing’s Nek, and other places. He listened to their thick guttural language with astonished interest. "What a strange lingo," he said to his uncle quietly, after the latter had been discussing cattle and crops with some of the Transvaalers. "Yes," replied Mr. Blakeney, "it’s a queer patois till you get accustomed to it. But you’ll have to pick it up, uncouth as it sounds. One can hardly get on in this country without it. All the natives who work for Europeans speak it; and what with transport-riders and Dutch farmers all over the place--most of whom can hardly speak a word of English--one finds it absolutely necessary to acquire Boer Dutch." "All right, uncle," said Guy, with his usual keenness, "I’ll begin as soon as you like." "Very well," rejoined Mr. Blakeney; "Tom and I will be your tutors. You will not be long before you pick up a fair colloquial knowledge of the language. After all, many of the words are practically identical with much of our Lowland Scotch. _Kist_, the word for chest, for example, is identical with the Scottish word. _Lang_ stands for long in both countries. _Kloof_, a ravine, is the same as the Lowland _cleugh_. _Pat_ means path or road, and so on. Their word _spoor_, which means tracks or footprints, is identical with an old-fashioned provincial word still in use in England. Otter hunters, for example, often call it the spur of an otter, when they see the prints of these animals in the smooth mud or sand of a riverside."