Without asking the price the Englishman had offered a hundred and fifty pounds for the old thing, and bought oxen worth ten pounds for sixteen.

The Dutchman chuckled, for he had the Salt-riem's money in the box under his bed.

Gregory laughed too, in silence; he could not lose sight of them now, so slowly they would have to move with that cumbrous ox-wagon.

Yet, when that evening came, and he reached a little wayside inn, no one could tell him anything of the travellers.
The master, a surly creature, half stupid with Boer-brandy, sat on the bench before the door smoking.

Gregory sat beside him, questioning, but he smoked on.