Evidently none of our mounted troops had been there, but it was too late to think of turning back. That, in all probability, would have brought a Mauser bullet whistling about my ears. ‘Bluff’ was the only game to play in such circumstances, so I called to a Kaffir servant, told him to fetch forage for my horse, and then swaggered towards the house as if I had been a Staff officer with a whole regiment at my back. On the stoep a bearded Boer met me. He had been lying prone on ground where rhenoster bushes grew. Their burrs were still sticking to his serge jacket, the left elbow of which was stained by the red earth on which it had rested, and his right thumb was black with a coating of burnt melinite. I saw it all as he raised one hand in a sort of half-military salute, and extended the other to welcome me, and in that moment I knew he had just come down from Riviersberg heights for lunch in the intervals of fighting. So, still playing an assumed part, I asked what weapons he had, and he brought me a well-worn Martini-Henry; but that was not what I wanted. After some show of misunderstanding the Boer brought his wife, who talked English fluently enough, and when I had explained to her the awful consequences of concealing arms or ammunition from a British officer, holding plenary powers of punishment, there was no necessity for saying any more. Without even waiting for my words to be interpreted, her husband went out and came back with a Mauser rifle, the fouling of which was still moist round its breech-chamber, and a bandolier half full of cartridges. These I took charge of, not knowing what I should do with them if a Boer commando happened to come that way. As to British troops—well, at any rate, I had no hesitation in assuring the Boer that his household would be safe from them. I did not think it necessary to add that none would be likely to come anywhere near him. In return for my leniency (save the mark!) he suggested something that had been in my mind all the while, and thereupon his good wife brought a deliciously white loaf and milk that was fragrant in its freshness. She was sorry that they ‘had nothing better to offer.’ Nothing better! Heavens, how sweet it tasted! Yet I was restrained from eating or drinking much by the thought that any show of my famished state would give me away. It was difficult to parry all questions concerning the number of troops I had with me, so I said that my men must have found a lot of arms to collect or they would have been there sooner. Upon that the Boer volunteered information as to the number of rifles which could possibly be in farms or cottages round about. All this information I noted down ostentatiously, wondering as I did so how on earth I should get out of the hole into which circumstances were thrusting me deeper and deeper.