We court one woman, that is known, and who will believe this story of yours that I tried to shoot you?
Soon the Kaffirs will come to look for me, probably they are starting already, and will find my body with your bullet in my heart.

Then they will take it back to Marais's camp, and I say--who will believe your story ?" "Some, I think, murderer," but as I spoke the words a chill of fear struck me.

It was true, I could prove nothing, having no witnesses, and henceforward I should be a Cain among the Boers, one who had slain a man for jealousy.

His gun was empty; yes, but it might be said that I had fired it after his death.

And as for the graze upon my cheek--why, a twig might have caused it.