This was not the first time Oscar had met Colonel Dunhaven, for that was the angry Englishman's name. On the contrary, they had travelled a good many miles in company and were pretty well acquainted; but the colonel could not be sure on this point until he had pulled out his gold eyeglass and brought it to bear on the boy.

"Aw! It's you, is it?" said he, after he had taken a good look at our hero.

The tone in which these words were uttered, and which was almost insulting, would have made some high-spirited boys angry; but Oscar evidently considered the source from which the words came, for he bowed in response and looked as good-natured as ever.

"Young man," continued the colonel, "you are a fool, and those who sent you out here are bigger fools."

Oscar did not feel at all hurt by this plain speech. He could hardly refrain from laughing outright.

He looked down at his sleek oxen, which were now being inspanned in the stable-yard (oxen are never "yoked" in Africa, they are always "inspanned"), and smiled complacently as he replied:

"That's only a matter of opinion, colonel."

"No, sir; it's a fact, and nobody's opinion can alter it," said the colonel, who seemed to grow angry again when he looked at Oscar's well-conditioned cattle and noted the energy and willingness with which his men went about their work. "It is perfectly ridiculous to send a boy like you out to this detestable country on such a wild-goose chase. You'll never succeed—you'll never get over the town hill, I couldn't."

"What was the matter?" asked Oscar, who knew very well what the answer would be. "Couldn't your oxen haul you over?"

"They might if they had got the chance, though I doubt it. They are a sorry lot compared with yours; and I don't for the life of me see——"

The colonel stopped there; but Oscar knew what he had in his mind.

He could not see how Oscar had managed to secure so fine an outfit, while his own, for which he had paid an exorbitant price, was so very inferior.

"My cattle might have pulled the wagon over the hill," continued the colonel, "but just as we came to one of the steepest parts of it the trek-tow broke, and we wasted four mortal hours in taking it to the blacksmith's shop and having it repaired. To make a long story short, we did nothing yesterday but run between the wagon and the shop with that chain, for it was broken as often as we hitched it to the dissel-boom. By that time everything and everybody began to get discouraged. The loose cattle and horses strayed away, the oxen refused to pull, and the driver showed his temper by running the wagon into a hole in which the ground was so yielding that one of the wheels sank down to the hub. That happened late last night, and as we could go no further we camped there. When I awoke this morning my oxen and most of my horses were gone, and so were my men, all except my body-servant, whom I left to guard the wagon while I came back here to see if I can find anyone who is fool enough to buy me out. Oh, it's a beastly country, and I have seen enough of it!"

The colonel in his rage talked very loudly, and Oscar—who out of the corner of his eye kept watch of the men at the bar—saw that when he began to talk of selling out they smiled at one another and exchanged sly winks and nods. That was just what they intended he should do.

By this time Oscar's wagon was ready to start. The oxen were inspanned, the fore-loper stood at his post with the leading reins in his hands, the interpreter was seated on the fore-chest, and the driver, with his long whip over his shoulder, came to the window for orders.

"I say, Ferguson!" exclaimed Oscar as he threw up the sash.

"Hi, boas!" replied the grinning Hottentot.

"Go ahead as fast as you can. I will overtake you some time during the night, and when I find the wagon I want to find every man of you with it."

"All right, boas!" said the driver.

He climbed to his seat on the fore-chest, cracked his whip with a report like that of a pistol; the fore-loper moved off, and the ponderous vehicle rolled through the gate as easily as if it had been a toy-wagon.

Heavily loaded as it was, it seemed to offer no impediment to the free movements of the powerful span that drew it.

Oscar had rechristened all his native servants—the names to which they generally answered being hard to pronounce and harder still to bear in mind.

To his driver he gave the name of Ferguson. His fore-loper—another little dried-up Hottentot—he called Johnson; and his interpreter, a gigantic Kaffir—who in size, if not in appearance, reminded him of his old plains guide—he dubbed Big Thompson.

This created an amusing jumble at first, for the men could not remember their new names; but they had grown accustomed to them at last and answered to them readily.

"You had better stop that wagon before it goes any further," said the colonel. "You don't know what is before you."

"And I don't much care," replied Oscar. "Others have gone through, and so can I."

The colonel stared at him in surprise, and in order to obtain a better view of Oscar's face he brought his eyeglass into use. He had never dreamed that this quiet, modest boy, who during the long voyage from London docks to Port Natal had kept almost entirely to himself, could possess so much determination. He was inclined to be angry over it, too.

"Aw!" said he in a tone of disgust; "whatever may be your other failings, young man, you certainly are not wanting in self-conceit. You have a most exalted opinion of yourself. I suppose you think you can eclipse the achievements of such small fry as Cumming, Baldwin, and Gilmore! I never heard of such impudence!"

"I don't expect to eclipse anybody. I simply mean to say that what has been done can be done again," replied Oscar with more spirit than the colonel had ever before seen him exhibit.

"You have good cheek, but you will sing a different song before you are many hours older, my fine lad," said the colonel; and Oscar thought, from the tone in which the words were spoken, that the man would feel a grim satisfaction if he could see him come back defeated and utterly disheartened. "Wait until your chains begin to break and your servants to show their treachery."

"My chains will not break, for they have been so closely watched that no one has had a chance to tamper with them," was the confident reply; "and neither will my men prove treacherous. I did not take the first who offered themselves, but selected those recommended by my friends."

Again the colonel looked at Oscar in surprise.

"Your friends?" he repeated. "I thought you were a stranger here, like myself."

"So I was when I first arrived, but the letters I brought from England made friends for me at once."

"From England! Whom do you know there?"

Oscar mentioned several names, among them that of a well-known African hunter, whose exploits, and the book he wrote about them, had rendered him famous the world over, adding:

"I spent a very pleasant week with that particular gentleman, and should have remained longer with him had I been at liberty to do as I pleased. From him I received advice that enabled me to avoid the difficulties that have already begun to beset you."

Oscar was almost bewildered by the effect that was produced by these words. He could hardly believe that the man who shook him so cordially by the hand when he ceased speaking was the same Colonel Dunhaven who had always repelled his advances with the utmost haughtiness.

The colonel was like Mr. Dibbits in one particular—he had the greatest respect for big names.

"My dear fellow," said he, "why did you not tell me all this before?"

"You didn't give me a chance to tell you," replied Oscar bluntly. "You snubbed me most unmercifully whenever I——"

"Aw!" interrupted the colonel; "that's all past and gone, and we will consider that it never happened. The fact is, we Englishmen don't know how to fall in with the free-and-easy ways you Americans have. We don't take up with every Tom, Dick, and Harry that comes along. We want to know who a man is before we open our hearts to him."

"For all that, I should think you might be gentleman enough to treat a stranger civilly when he approaches you in a civil way."

The boy did not utter these words aloud, although he wanted to, for he did not at all like the colonel. The latter had snubbed him more than once, and Oscar could not forget it.

"I wonder what he would say now if I should ask him to hunt in company with me?" thought our hero. "I'll not try the experiment, for he might consent, and I don't think I want him. I wouldn't sell out if I were in your place, colonel," he said aloud. "You must have spent a good deal of money in getting here. I know I did, and I never wasted a shilling; and I wouldn't let those fellows"—here he nodded his head toward the men who were gathered about the bar—"have the satisfaction of knowing that they had beaten me. Take this chair, and I will tell you something."

Oscar and the colonel seated themselves in front of one of the windows, with their backs toward the bar, and the former gave a short account of his experience with one of the cattle-dealers. What it was we shall presently see.