To convey a wounded person thirty miles on horseback under a burning South African sun is a very dangerous experiment; and, had George Weston been taken the whole distance under such circumstances, he would certainly have suffered severely, and probably not have survived the journey; but happily, before they had gone very far, they fell in with an empty mule-waggon returning to Fort Crause, to which George was immediately transferred, and thus he travelled in comparative comfort. A week later Major Flinders and Tom, with the servants and horses, made a fresh start, and at the end of five days marched into Rondebosch; but George Weston was detained at Fort Crause for more than a month, and of course his father remained to look after him. At first the doctor gave but faint hopes of his recovery--for inflammation set in, and it was feared that tetanus would supervene; but in the end, youth and a famous constitution gained the upper hand, and George was able to rise from his sick-bed. When, at length, he and his father returned to Rustenburg Farm, they found to their satisfaction that the Major had disposed of the young horses for nearly double the price he paid for them; so, after all, "Kicking Jan" did not dissipate all the profits of the expedition, but when every expense had been allowed for there still remained a good round sum to be placed to the credit of the firm of "Flinders, Weston, and Sons." CHAPTER THIRTEEN. TWO YEARS AFTER--RUMOURS OF WAR--GOOD NEWS FOR TOM--MR WESTON MAKES AN INTERESTING PROPOSAL. Nearly two years have passed since the events recorded in the previous chapters, and our hero is once more the guest of Captain Jamieson. The Westons, too, are at Ralfontein, likewise Patrick Keown and the faithful Hottentot, Black William. But not Major Flinders? No; the Major is away in England with his wife and daughters, and many months must elapse before Tom can hope to see their faces again. But let us "hark back," and see what has happened since George Weston was so nearly done to death by the tree-leopard. In the spring of 1845 Mrs Flinders was suddenly seized with a sharp attack of illness which for some time entirely baffled the skill of the Cape Town doctors; and when, after weeks of anxiety and watching, they seemed to get the better of the disease, the poor lady was left almost at death's door. Days went by without the patient showing any appreciable signs of improvement, and at length the doctors were obliged to confess that though they had checked the disorder they had by no means conquered it. The plain truth was, they were altogether out of their depth. Said the pompous and portly Dr Brownjohn: "Major, you must, I fear, take our interesting patient to England, and--ha--and--" "Seek better advice," interrupted plain-spoken Mr Spike, his brother-medico. "We can do nothing more, my dear sir. The case is beyond us, I'm grieved to say."