A RACE WITH A KAFFIR. 123 



and laboured breath proclaim it but too plainly ; he 

 has been used to trot all day about his native 

 mountains in his own way, but to be pushed hard 

 just beyond his pace in this fashion is a new 

 sensation to him, and evidently he doesn't much 

 like it. The Englishman is striding along as freely 

 as when he started, still a few feet in the rear. 

 Three hundred yards from home he suddenly goes 

 to the Kaffir's shoulder, and the real struggle begins ; 

 for thirty yards they race side by side, but it is soon 

 over. The Kaffir is beaten ; he is breathing hard, 

 and his legs feel like bars of lead ; and our champion, 

 drawing right away, and finishing at sprinting pace, 

 has won the race by seventy good yards, which, if 

 he had made his own running, he might have 

 increased to double the distance. 



The mile has been run in five minutes, two 

 seconds, not bad time considering the state of the 

 road, which in many places is of a soft, sandy 

 nature, and utterly unlike an English highway. 



The delighted English crowd round their cham- 

 pion, eager to pat him on the back for having so well 

 defended the honour of the Old Country. As for the 

 Boers, who have stood in blank amazement at the 

 whole proceeding, they ejaculate, " Allemaghte ! vat 

 zoorten mensch ist de ?" (Almighty! what sort of 

 man is this ?) and evidently cannot at all understand 

 why two people should take all this trouble for what 

 seems to them no profit. The Kaffirs, rather cast 

 down, gather about Segani, to know how his defeat 

 happened ; the poor fellow has done all he knew, 

 and in reality has made a very fair display, and was 

 simply beaten by a better man. After the race, our 

 host hints to the chief, that Segani's conqueror is 



