Then he seemed suddenly to strike his spurs into the horse, for the animal bounded forward swiftly, and came sweeping towards Hans at a hand gallop.
"Ah! it is that devil of a man, Frank Muller!" ejaculated Coetzee.

"Now I wonder what he wants?
I always feel cold down the back when he comes near me." By this time the plunging black horse was being reined up alongside of his pony so sharply that it reared till its great hoofs were pawing the air within a few inches of Hans' head.
"Almighty!" said the old man, tugging his pony round.

"Be careful, nephew, be careful; I do not wish to be crushed like a beetle." Frank Muller--for it was he--smiled.

He had made his horse rear purposely, in order to frighten the old man, whom he knew to be an arrant coward.
"Why have you been so long?
and what have you done with the Englishmen?
You should have been back half an hour ago." "And so I should, nephew, and so I should, if I had not been detained.
Surely you do not suppose that I would linger in the accursed place?
Bah," and he spat upon the ground, "it stinks of Englishmen.

I cannot get the taste of them out of my mouth." "You are a liar, Uncle Coetzee," was the cool answer.