says, “I shot my Bible full of bullets after Bloemfontein went, and you and God didn't say anything.
Take it and pray over it before we Federals help the British to knock hell out of you rebels.”
' Then I hauled him back into the car. I judged he'd had a fit. But life's curious—and sudden—and mixed. I hadn't any more use for a reb than Van Zyl, and I knew something of the lies they'd fed us up with from the Colony for a year and more. I told the minister to pull his freight out of that, and went on with my lunch, when another man come along and shook hands with Van Zyl. He'd known him at close range in the Kimberley siege and before. Van Zyl was well seen by his neighbours, I judge. As soon as this other man opened his mouth I said, “You're Kentucky, ain't you?'” “I am,” he says; “and what may you be?” I told him right off, for I was pleased to hear good United States in any man's mouth; but he whipped his hands behind him and said, “ I'm not knowing any man that fights for a Tammany Dutchman. But I presoom you've been well paid, you dam gun-runnin' Yank.”
' Well, Sir, I wasn't looking for that, and it near knocked me over, while old man Van Zyl started in to explain.
' “Don't you waste your breath, Mister Van Zyl,” the man says. “I know this breed. The South's full of 'em.” Then he whirls round on me and says, “Look at here, you Yank. A little thing like a King's neither here nor there, but what you've done,” he says, “is to go back on the
