When I left Enslin I was the proud possessor of three fine saddle-horses and two decrepit-looking but sturdy cart-horses. Now I have to hire a man to repeat daily to me the number of my riding-horses, and I drive about Bloemfontein with a spanking team. I am aware that this confession will make the Provost Marshal's hair stand straight on his head; but let him have a little patience. Let him think what a glorious thing it is to find the one horse-thief in the army. I calculate that about 5,000 horses have illicitly changed hands during the advance from Modder River, and yet I have never found a man who has not most indignantly denied the merest, slenderest imputation of being concerned in a horse "transaction." Therefore--the army is honest, and there is only one horse-thief in it. The honour of the force is saved, and I am the only culprit. This is centralisation with a vengeance, and no longer need the Provost Marshal send his myrmidons galloping far and wide in search of horse-thieves. When next he hears of the loss of a horse, let him come to me--the only thief. I will let him know my address when Martial Law is replaced by the ordinary procedure of justice. But let me recount, to what, I hope, will be a sympathetic public, how I fell from honesty into the blackest depths of dishonesty. At Jakobsdal, Messieurs les Boers shot my finest horse. I was grieved naturally, and hurt too, that a poor non-combatant should have been treated so cavalierly. But "a la guerre comme a la guerre," I whispered to myself, and hoped for better luck next time. I followed the force from Jacobsdal to Klipkraal and Paardeberg, and at the last-named camp I awoke one morning to find my sturdy black pony had been taken quietly from under my very nose. I raved and stamped and swore at the loss. My sympathetic black boy tried to console me. "If master like," he said, "I go catch another horse." But so high and pure was my morality at that time that I almost thrashed him on the spot for daring to make such a suggestion. I walked away disconsolate, and sought a friend whose ribboned breast showed that he had seen service in every quarter of the globe. His answer to my request was short and simple. "Go and see whether he is picketed with ---- Horse" (wild rhinoceri will not drag from me the name of that gallant regiment of M.I.). I went, and there conspicuously displayed in the front rank of the tethered horses was my black pony. I did not hesitate, but, blessing the members of ---- Horse for so kindly caring for my poor wandering pony, I began to untie the ream of the halter. But the watchful eye of one of the men was open, and I was startled to hear a noise at my side say, "Well, upon my soul, this beats cock-fighting. You come to the wrong shop if you think you can steal a horse from _this_ regiment," and he roughly took the ream out of my hand.