My friend the postmistress would, if questioned, be unlikely to recognize any South African suspect in the frank and homely traveller who had spoken with her of Annandale and the _Pilgrim's Progress_.
The soft mulberry gloaming of the west coast was beginning to fall on the hills.

I hoped to put in a dozen miles before dark to the next village on the map, where I might find quarters.

But ere I had gone far I heard the sound of a motor behind me, and a car slipped past bearing three men.

The driver favoured me with a sharp glance, and clapped on the brakes.

I noted that the two men in the tonneau were carrying sporting rifles.
'Hi, you, sir,' he cried.