The life we lead is, for the most part, a peaceful one, though in examining farms and scouring the country round, which we do in parties of six, under an officer as a rule, there is always the chance of being potted by the wily Boer. This has happened on three occasions during our stay, our men being fired upon at close range, and having to flee for their lives. None of us was touched, but the bullets came pretty close most times. These small patrols, by the way, are, I think, the most unsatisfactory part of one’s work, looked at from a personal point of view. One stands every chance of being shot, and knows that immediately one is fired at it is a case of turning and riding for dear life, without a chance of retaliation, or at any rate immediate retaliation, as the Boers always outnumber us and hold the positions on these occasions. Most of the farms round about Kalfontein are unoccupied, the farmers and their families evidently having left in haste, only carrying away a few necessaries with them; but some of their houses have been left in charge of the Boer Memsahibs, the Sahibs having gone on a man-shooting expedition with the nearest commando, or, perhaps, being Commandants themselves. A case in point is that of Commandant Erasmus, who has a large farm about seven miles from here, where he has left his wife and five or six comely daughters. Needless to say, this is a favourite patrol, though the girls are shy and retiring, and the old lady waxes very wroth when approached with a view to doing a deal in sheep, saying she has only enough to keep herself and family going, doubtless including papa when he pays them his periodical visit by stealth during the night. Another trooper takes up the narrative with a sigh of regret for the things that cannot be got at Boer farms for love or money: We are all languishing for an iced whisky peg and a decent meal, and often wonder whether we shall enjoy either again. Our work has been no picnic, and, though we are all as enthusiastic over it as ever, I must admit our experiences have been many and hard. We have dwindled down in numbers, too, through casualties and sickness, and our clothing is showing signs of wear and tear. The spick-and-span stage has long since vanished, and a wash once a week is a luxury. Some had grown quite respectable—disrespectable I might say—beards, but the Colonel has a rooted antipathy to hirsute growth on the chin. We have also had some changes. Trooper Percy Smith has obtained a commission in the Berkshires, but _pro tem._ is doing duty with the 8th Mounted Infantry; Trooper Huddleston (a cousin of Lady Roberts and brother to the E.I.R. Traffic Manager) has been appointed Assistant-Commissioner of Police in Kroonstad, while Lieutenant Pugh fills a similar office at Heilbron.