The Van Buren press., 1898-01-01

July sat in the sun, unspeakably
u lonely, and felt depressed beyond
measure, for, although a Hottentet de-
lights like a lizard in the warmth of an
African day, revelling in it, yet he also
desires company. So was it with July.
for his case was unusually grievous. On
the hill behind the stage stables, new
ly buried, lay his father and mother
dead of cholera, and it was a wonder
that he himself, who had been attacked
was alive. So he was alone in huge
world. At intervals, three times week,
came the galloping stage, with inorai-
nate tumult, blowing of horns, crack
ing of whiplashes, snorting of horses
and shouting of drivers and prospectors,
full of excitement, who were going up
country to the newly found gold fields
on the Witwatersrand. For five or ten
minutes thrice weekly July thought
that the universe was crowded with
hustle and business, and thereafter he
sank into silence and solitude.
July looked after the relays of horses
temporarily. His father had done so,
helped by the boy, but since his death,
n week ago, the superintendent of the
company, 300 miles away, had sent word
to July that a new man would be sent to
relieve him. And then July would be
sent adrift, where he did not know and
nobody cared, Hottentot boys, even if
they are as faithful to feed and water
their charges as this, are not articles
ofvalue in the land, and July's prospects
of employment We're not bright. So he
sat in the sun, with mournful envy of
the horses, which were more thought of
than he.
1t was in the hot afternoon, and the
only thing stirring was n cloud of dust
in the distance, and from that cloud
louder and shriller as the stage drew
near, came blast after blast of the
guards horn. Rattle and clatter and
dash, shout from the driver, a pro-
longed series of artistic but purely or
namental flourishes from the great
whip, and the coach stopped, its horses
all foam and hutter.
Instantly the driver and the whip
were down and embarrassing the glad
team.
"Ho, Julyl Now, you little black ras-
cal! All by yourself, still, hey? Well,
its the last time. There's man coming
up the road to relieve you-a white man,
too, leastways, half and half. So you'd
best be packing up, July, though for
me, niger IL you be, I'd sooner see your
ugly little landmark of phiz than some
surly blackguard full of Cape smoke all
the time. Horses all right-as usual,
fresh and frislSy-as usual. Good boy,
July Blowed IL amt sorry to see the
last of you. There's a cigar for luck.
Look out for your relief-he's a-riding
his own horse"
Taroot-tatatool-rata tool-toorarayl
The horn blew, a passenger began
again 1.-The Song that Reached NV
Heart" on a concertina, the horses
reared and kicked and were an undis-
ciplined mob for an instant and on the
next were stretched in a taut, fleet line
at a spanking cauter. Rattle and crash
and clatter aud fresh cloud of dust.
and July was once more alone in the
sun, richer by cigar, which he smoked
at once, having his races love for the
weed.
About sundown he came, riding his
own horse, as July expected but he did
not seem half-breed. He was very red
faced and had red hair and red eyes
certainly nothing even half African
about his looks. His horse was fairly
good one and not much put out by what
July knew should have been a long
journey. Across the pommel of the
saddle he carried a rifle, and that was
all the baggage he bsought. Even July
marveled somewhat at a man coming
20 live on the bare yeldt without a
blanket or billy" to boil his coffee in.
But a native has the same awe. though
perhaps in less degree, of white man
than a monkey Siust have. Therefore
he made obeisance in Z very eouciliatiHg
aud smiling way.