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That was called sending them to graze and gain strength for more work; and there was the keep of two Cape boys, and the Kaffir and the Boer driver, and the cost of nursing and sick man's diet, and the care of the child. A heavy bill of charges was mounting up against the English traveller. Much of what the belt contained would honestly be Bough's.

They will never let honest men suffer for behaving square, sure no, they'll not do that!" But though Bough's words were full of faith in the fair dealing of the lawyers and magistrates, his tone implied doubt. "Boer lawyers are slim rogues at best, and Engelsch lawyers are duyvels as well as rogues," said Smoots Beste, with a dull flash of originality.

The Golden Bough's mates could be trusted to hustle the crowd whether or not the skipper's eyes were upon them. There was bloody, knock-about work with belaying pin and knuckles, while the ship settled down into deep sea form, and the mob of stiffs learned to keep out of its own way and hand the right rope when yelled at.

Or was it ? Bough's dark, full-blooded face bleached to muddy-pale as her terrible voice rang through the desolate place, and echoed among the broken rafters. "You boast yourself ready to admit your infamy. You shall be compelled! Everything shall be made known! I will go to Lord Beauvayse now, and tell him all all! And if he loves her, he will marry her.

She refused to touch the loathly-smelling liquor they offered her. Her heart beat like a little terrified bird's. And she was horribly conscious of those light eyes of Bough's following, following her, with that inscrutable look. When the crowd had thinned he came to her. He caught her arm, and pulled her near him, and said between his teeth: "You will sleep in the mistress's room to-night."

But his purpose was solidifying in his brain as he said innocently, looking over Bough's left shoulder at the wooden partition that divided off the bar from the landlord's dwelling-room: "Aye, I am no dirty schelm that cannot be trusted.

That Cockney had suffered a cruel double cross when he drank of the black bottle, and was hoisted over the Golden Bough's rail. Yesterday he was a great man, the "Knitting Swede's" chief bully, with the hard seafare behind him, and with unlimited rum, and an easy, if rascally, shore life ahead of him.

Nothing remained for any bloke to teach Bough about the sex. You let her row a bit, and when she had done herself out, you put in what you had got to say. That was Bough's way with them always. "You have written letters to me and followed me." His grinning red mouth and tobacco-stained teeth showed in the beard. He looked at her and waited. "Why have you done this?

When she drove out to your friend Bough's plaats at Haarsgrond in that spider, pretending she was your sister that had married a Duitscher drummer in Gueldersdorp, and buried him, and was afraid to be shut up in the stad with all those lustful rooineks, you thought it would be enough to tell her Staats Police or Transvaal burghers were after her to make her creep into a mousehole and pay you to keep her hid.

It glowed in her face, this wide understanding and sympathy, looked from her eyes, and sounded in her voice, and it was this that won the worship of the desperate men and broken derelicts who peopled the Golden Bough's forecastle. Hair? Oh, yes, she had hair, a great mass of it piled on her head, black hair. Eyes?