Since crossing the Drackenberg Oscar had had but little intercourse with the Boers he had met along his route. Knowing them to be a stupid, pig-headed race, deaf to reason and blind to everything except self-interest, he wanted nothing to do with them if he could help it.

The only way in which they could be touched was through their pockets. He had found that they were quite willing to cheat him in a trade and to drink all the coffee he could afford to offer them, but they never thought of granting him a favor in return. They expected to be liberally paid for everything they did for him.

They believed that every hunter who came to Africa must of necessity be an Englishman, and they were very spiteful toward them, for they had somehow got it into their heads that England was laying plans to subjugate their country.

"Isn't that pool public property?" demanded Oscar as soon as his indignation would permit him to speak. "What right have they to say that my cattle shall not drink there?"

McCann shrugged his shoulders and waved his hand toward the fountain, as if to say that if his employer chose to use his eyes he would see something that would enable him to answer that question for himself.

Oscar rode out so that he could take a survey of the water-hole, and saw four men standing in line in front of it, holding their rifles in their hands. On the opposite bank stood their drivers and after-riders, all armed, and ready to lend assistance in case Oscar and his men showed a disposition to be belligerent.

Everything seemed to indicate that there was trouble ahead, and Oscar was in just the right frame of mind to meet it.

"I'd be willing to give something handsome if McCann had just half Big Thompson's pluck," thought the young hunter, who wasted not a moment in deciding upon his course. "But I am alone, and how I am going to come out it is hard to tell. Johnson," he shouted, "you and Ferguson run around in front of those oxen and hold them where they are. When I give the word drive them to the fountain, and I will see that the way is clear. Come on, Thompson. I want you to tell them that I have something to say about this business."

"Oh, Mr. Preston!" cried McCann in great alarm, "mind what you are about."

"I will," answered Oscar.

"You don't know what a determined lot they can be if they once make up their minds to it," continued McCann. "They would just as soon shoot as eat."

"I don't care how determined they are," was the boy's reply. "And as for shooting, that is a game two can play at. I am not going to stand by and see my stock suffer from thirst when there is plenty of water close at hand, you may depend upon that. Come on, Thompson!"

In spite of the entreaties and remonstrances of McCann, who earnestly, almost tearfully, declared that his employer would surely bring himself into serious trouble if he attempted to combat the Boers' resolution to hold the fountain for the exclusive use of their own stock, Oscar rode away, first satisfying himself that his driver and fore-loper had obeyed his orders to stop the oxen.

When he arrived on the bank above the fountain the Boers drew closer together for mutual protection, and one of them, a gray-headed old patriarch, raised his hand as a signal for him to halt. Instead of obeying Oscar motioned to the Boers to get out of his way, at the same time cocking both barrels of his rifle, which he held in such a way that its threatening muzzle pointed straight at the patriarch's breast.

Not satisfied with this demonstration, which had a visible effect upon the courage of the Boers, Oscar thrust his hand into the breast-pocket of his jacket and brought out a heavy revolver, the hammer of which clicked ominously as he dropped the weapon by his side.

Without saying a word the Boers moved out of his path, and Oscar and Big Thompson, the latter still carrying the leopard across his saddle, drove their horses into the fountain and loosed the bridle-reins so that they could drink.

"Now, Thompson," said Oscar, who, in spite of his anger, was outwardly calm, "ask these Dutch gentlemen what they mean by such work as this."

The interpreter propounded the question in his own way, and received a torrent of reproaches, threats, and abuse in reply. The Boers shouted at the top of their voices, shook their fists at Oscar, who shook his cocked revolver at them in return, and the Hottentots on the bank joined in with yells and furious gestures.

"Well, Thompson," said Oscar when he thought he had waited long enough for an answer, "whenever you can make sense out of this Babel of tongues let me know it."

"The Boer men say that this is their fountain because they water here every time they go on their trading expeditions," was the substance of the Kaffir's reply. "They are going to stay here two or three days, and rest their cattle and fill their water-butts, and there is no more in the pool than they want themselves. If the English trader wants water for his oxen he can just inspan and go off and hunt it up, for, he shall have none here."

"What makes them think I am a trader?" inquired the boy. "Did anybody tell them so, or did they only guess at it?"

The reply increased Oscar's surprise and indignation. It was to the effect that the Englishman's white servant had told them so not more than ten minutes ago.

"That's something else I have to thank McCann for," said Oscar. "Now, Thompson, tell them what I say," he added, throwing his right leg over the horn of his saddle, so that he sat sideways on his horse, "woman fashion." He seemed to handle his cocked weapons very carelessly, for as often as he changed his position the muzzles were sure to come in line with the heads of some of the Boers, who were prompt to step out of range, "I say that this fountain does not belong to them, for it is not located on their land. I have a better right to it than they have, for I came here first. I am going to stay here a week or two; perhaps longer. I am not an Englishman or a trader, and neither am I going off to hunt up another fountain. It is my intention to water my cattle right here, and now. Tell them to put that in their big pipes and smoke it."

The Kaffir told them, and the reply that came back through him was:

"The Boer men say that they will shoot the first strange ox or horse that puts his nose into the water."

Oscar had ridden away from the fountain, but when these words were translated to him he promptly turned about, and rode back again. He drove his horse in knee-deep, and scowled savagely at the Boers, who were struck motionless and dumb by his conduct. Little Gray put his nose into the fountain several times, and blew the water about, but the Dutchmen did not shoot him.

"Thompson, tell these gentlemen that my oxen are coming here to drink now, and that if they want to begin shooting when they come up to go ahead," said Oscar. "But warn them, also, that for every shot they fire I shall fire two, and I shall make every one count. If they want to go on with their trading expedition they had better let me and my property entirely alone. Now go and tell the boys to bring up the cattle."

Big Thompson translated his employer's emphatic words, and then turned and rode up the bank, while the Boers drew off on one side to hold a consultation.

Oscar kept his place in the fountain until his oxen arrived, and then he rode up between them and the Boers, passing so close to the latter that his horse fairly crowded them out of his path, and stood guard over them while they drank their fill.

The Boers remonstrated—at least Oscar thought they did, for they kept up a constant shouting all the while—but they made no hostile demonstrations.

When the oxen had quenched their thirst Oscar followed them to the wagon, and saw them put in their yokes and tied up for the night.

"I was really afraid you were going to get into trouble with those Dutchmen," said McCann from his seat on the dissel-boom.

"Oh, you were, were you?" exclaimed Oscar, who stood in front of the fire, with his hat pushed on the back of his head and his hands thrust deep into his pockets. "And you did all you could to help it along, didn't you?"

McCann started, and tried to look surprised, but only succeeded in confirming the suspicions that had already been formed in the mind of his employer.

His face grew red and white by turns, and he could not meet the boy's eye.

"You are not only a coward—a most contemptible coward—but you are a scoundrel as well," continued Oscar. "When I return to the coast I shall post you far and wide. You never shall impose upon anybody else as you have imposed upon me, if I can help it. You dare not go any further into the wilderness with me, you are too big a coward to go back to Zurnst alone, and you are determined to make me go back with you. You told those Boers that I am an Englishman and a trader, hoping in that way to excite their hatred and jealousy of me. You tried to lose me on the plain, and to lead me out of my way, so that I could not find water; and when you learned that I was able to travel without any help from you, by referring to a map Mr. Lawrence had given—— Aha!" exclaimed Oscar as McCann's face flushed guiltily, "you thought you would stop me by tearing up my map, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Preston," stammered McCann. "Indeed I don't."

"Don't you, though? Look at that!" cried Oscar, pulling from his pocket the pieces of paper he had found on the plain, and holding them close in front of the man's face. "Look at that!" he repeated as he rubbed the pieces violently up and down over McCann's nose.

This was almost too much for even a coward to stand. McCann jumped to his feet with an angry exclamation, and drew his clenched hand back as if he were about to strike.