He was tall, thin and old, at least he had a long white beard which suggested age, although his figure, so far as it could be seen beneath his rough clothes, seemed vigorous.

His face was clean cut and handsome, with a rather hooked nose, and his eyes were grey, but as I saw when he came up to us, somewhat bloodshot at the corners.

His general aspect was refined and benevolent, and as soon as he opened his mouth I perceived that he was a person of gentle breeding.
And yet there was something about him, something in his atmosphere, so to speak, that I did not like.

Before we parted that evening I felt sure that in one way or another he was a wrong-doer, not straight; also that he had a violent temper.
He rode up to us and asked in a pleasant voice, although the manner of his question, which was put in bad Dutch, was not pleasant, "Who gave you leave to shoot on our land ?" "I did not know that any leave was required; it is not customary in these parts," I answered politely in English.

"Moreover, this buck was wounded miles away." "Oh!" he exclaimed in the same tongue, "that makes a difference, though I expect it was still on our land, for we have a lot; it is cheap about here." Then after studying a little, he added apologetically, "You mustn't think me strange, but the fact is my daughter hates things to be killed near the house, which is why there's so much game about." "Then pray make her our apologies," said Anscombe, "and say that it shall not happen again." He stroked his long beard and looked at us, for by now he had dismounted, then said-- "Might I ask you gentlemen your names ?" "Certainly," I replied.