Now hurry in a job of this kind was abhorrent to Peter's soul, for, like all Boers, his tastes were for slowness and sureness, though he could hustle fast enough when haste was needed.

As he pushed through the winter fields he reckoned up the things in his favour, and found the only one the dirty weather.
There was a high, gusty wind, blowing scuds of snow but never coming to any great fall.

The frost had gone, and the lying snow was as soft as butter.

That was all to the good, he thought, for a clear, hard night would have been the devil.
The first bit was through farmlands, which were seamed with little snow-filled water-furrows.

Now and then would come a house and a patch of fruit trees, but there was nobody abroad.