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Updated: May 19, 2025
With an obscene malediction at the body, he sprang upon a horse. A sjambok swung, and with a snort, which was half a groan, the trained horses sprang forward. "The Rooinek's gun for Oom Paul!" he shouted back over his shoulder. Most prisoners would have been content to escape and save their skins, but a more primitive spirit lived in Krool. Escape was not enough for him.
The sjambok had, like a wizard's wand, as it were, lifted him away from England to spaces where he watched from the grey rock of a kopje for the glint of an assegai or the red of a Rooinek's tunic: and he had done both in his day. "We've got you at last, Krool," said Wallstein. "We have been some time at it, but it's a long lane that has no turning, and we have you "
Therefore would it not be better if I took both teams and waggons, and all the rooinek's goods with me up to Gueldersdorp, and handed it over to the Engelsch landrost there?" The fish was hooked.
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