"Yes," answered Meyer gloomily; "she thinks that, and she is one of
those who have vision. Well, she may be wrong. Also, the question is,
shall we seize our opportunity and its dangers, or remain here and breed
bad horses all our lives, while she who is not afraid laughs at us? I am
going to Bambatse."

Again Mr. Clifford made no direct answer, only asked a question:

"How long will it take to get the guns and ammunition, and what will
they cost?"

"About a week from Wakkerstroom," replied Meyer. "Old Potgieter,
the trader there, has just imported a hundred Martinis and a hundred
Westley-Richards falling-blocks. Fifty of each, with ten thousand rounds
of cartridges, will cost about £600, and we have as much as that in the
bank; also we have the new waggon, and plenty of good oxen and horses.
We can take a dozen of the horses with us, and sell them in the north
of the Transvaal for a fine price, before we get into the tetsefly
belt. The oxen will probably carry us through, as they are most of them
salted."

"You have thought it all out, Jacob, I see; but it means a lot of money
one way and another, to say nothing of other things."

"Yes, a lot of money, and those rifles are too good for Kaffirs.
Birmingham gas-pipes would have done for them, but there are none to be
had. But what is the money, and what are the guns, compared to all they
will bring us?"

"I think you had better ask my daughter, Jacob. She seems to have her