Say they do stop me, it'll only be: `Who are you--and where are you going ?' Down south or west or anywhere, to do a bit of trade.

I'm sloping off--that's what I'm doing--because the British are trying to force me to volunteer to fight against my old friends the Boers.

I'll soft-soap and butter 'em all over, and play 'em a tune or two upon the flute, and offer 'em some good tobacco.

They won't stop me." The quiet, plump, thoughtful-looking muser was on his way to a farm just beyond the outskirts of Kimberley, as he walked slowly through the darkness, hardly passing a soul; and he rubbed his hands softly at last as he came in sight of a dim gleaming lantern some distance ahead.
"All ready and waiting," he said softly, and now he increased his pace a little in his excitement, but only to stop short and look back once or twice as if to make sure that he was not followed.

But, neither seeing nor hearing anything, he rubbed his hands again, muttered to himself something about wiping his shoes of the whole place, and went on quickly.
"Das you, baas ?" said a thick guttural voice just above the lantern.
"Yes, this is me," replied Anson.