Frank Muller wanted me to go, but I would not, and now they have declared war on the British Government and sent a proclamation to Lanyon.

There will be fighting, _Oom_ Silas, the land will run with blood, and the poor _rooibaatjes_ will be shot down like buck." "The poor Boers, you mean," growled John, who did not like to hear her Majesty's army talked of in terms of regretful pity.
_Oom_ Coetzee shook his head with the air of one who knew all about it, and then turned an attentive ear to Silas Croft's version of Jantje's story.
"_Allemachter!_" groaned Coetzee, "what did I tell you?
The poor _rooibaatjes_ shot down like buck, and the land running with blood! And now that Frank Muller will draw me into it, and I shall have to go and shoot the poor _rooibaatjes_; and I can't miss, try as hard as I will, I _can't_ miss.

And when we have shot them all I suppose that Burgers will come back, and he is _kransick_ (mad).

Yes, yes; Lanyon is bad, but Burgers is worse," and the comfortable old gentleman groaned aloud at the troubles in which he foresaw he would be involved, and finally took his departure by a bridle-path over the mountain, saying that, as things had turned out, he would not like it to be known that he had been calling on an Englishman.

"They might think that I was not loyal to the 'land,'" he added in explanation; "the land which we Boers bought with our blood, and which we shall win back with our blood, whatever the poor 'pack oxen' of _rooibaatjes_ try to do.