Put it in your pocket, Jan." "Curse you, give it me!" said Muller between his teeth.
"No, Frank Muller, no!" answered the Vilderbeeste, patting his pocket, while the two or three square inches of skin round his nose wrinkled up in a hairy grin that, owing to the cut on his head, was even more curious than usual.

"If you wish to have the warrant you shall have it, but then we shall up-saddle and go, and you can do your murdering yourself.

There, there! take your choice; we shall be glad enough to get home, for we do not care for the job.

If I go out shooting I like to shoot buck or Kafirs, not white people." Frank Muller reflected a moment, then he laughed a little.
"You are funny folk, you home-bred Boers," he said; "but perhaps you are right.

After all, what does it matter who keeps the warrant, provided that the thing is well done?
Mind that there is no bungling, that is all." "Yah, yah," said the fat-faced man, "you can trust us for that.