The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1899-09-30

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was about to descend into the long
gully, it wax midnight. They called
it three hours ride to the Lynch Pole
ut Murder Neck, and from there about
the same distance to Bert Klinker's
farm, on the edge of the high veldt.
We were about half way through the
easy, jumping from side to side as If
he were treading on hot ashes. ! dis
mounted and examined his hoofs. and
finding nothing unusual, we started
again.
After a while l began to feel queer
myself. / became conscious of a tick
ling sensation all over my body, and
it very soon dawned upon me that !
was becoming charged with the Kloof
lightning, but how or from what quar-
ter ] could not imagine. Then Fingo
became excited, and before long we
were %galloping through the Kloof in
regular Tam O'Shanter fashion, as if
his highness himself were close upon
our heels. But the faster we few the
more bloated or stuffed with the
strange fluid | became, until at last
/ must have reached the bursting
point, for I began to lose conscious
ness, while my eyes and mind were
filled with visions of electrical or mag
netic lines, figures and coruscations of
marvellous form and variety.
When | regained my senses ] found
Fingo standing quietly by my side-I
must have fallen heavily, for my
shoulder was quite painful and there
was ONE kind of a wound on my right
wrist. When we arrived at Klinker's
farm the sun was high in the heavens.
Something in my appearance or per-
haps the touch of my hand reused the
old Dutchman's suspicious, for he
looked me all over and then exclaimed:
What's the matter, young man."
Hungry, that's ALL" l replied. But
the Boer turned my right hand over
and over and examined it carefully,
then he called out:
Come quickly, old wife, and look at
the mans hand"
After a scrutiny the kindly old wo-
man traced with her finger a thin red
line beginning at the tip of my right
thumb, passing round the bruisc on
my wrist, and along to the tip of my
little finger, taking, as it were, the
form of q horseshoe magnet.
Heaven protect us!" cried the old
woman, sinking into a chair.
by the Almighty" exclaimed her
husband, "the mar is Kloof-struck,
| and the worst case i ever saw"
On my return to the store I told
Hans all about it, and then I tried to
dismiss the affair from my mind. In
a few days the wound on my wrist dis
appeared, but the lloof marks re-
manned. Instead of disappearing, the
lines began 10 expand. somewhat, and
the color turned slowly from II light
red into a deep crimson. At the end
of six months l became aware that
my whole system was approaching
the brink of some great crisis or
change. I had not the slightest idea
what it was to be, nor did / care, but
l had just curiosity enough to consult
a Boer doctor, who examined me care
fully and then said:
Prepare for lunacy."
WHAT" I exclaimed, 1.-THE most fam
tastic and horrible of human attic
tions?"
Exactly" he replied with empha-
sis. You understand me-kloof lun-
acy."
A few hours later Hans and l were
sitting outside the store, enjoying the
evening breeze and watching the prai-
RE fires in the distanse sweeping and
tearing along in their death-dealing
race with the wind. I was cheerful.
but Hans was Respondent and wished
me to prepare for the worst. ! tried
to rally him, and to change the direc-
ton of his thoughts l called upon him
for a story. 1T may be the last" I
said, but / don't think so. At any
rate, brace up"
You remembers ] continued, "how
the brave Macbeth remained undaunt-
ed until Birnam Kood moved up to
Dupsinane. ] have some of that old
warriors courage, if none of his vices,
and shall die hard, always remember
ing, however, that fatal proviso,
weather permitting"
So, after n little coaxing, Hans re-
lated the following story, which he
declared was the experience of a
newspaper man on his first visit to
the Trapsvaal very many years ago:
THE RAID ON THE NIGHTGOWNS.
MY horse is tired, so am I. Eight
hundred miles on horseback is no Joke.
We are still about fifty miles from the
gold fields in the northeast corner of
the Transvaal.
For days we have seen nothing but
plains. Now we are among the oun
tains and we are happy.
"The sun is setting, and the hills,
decked in a wondrous mantle of green
and gold, are in their glory. There is
life, there is what you may call sava;re
beauty everywhere.
I'VE jog along up the dusty road.
There is a DutGhman's farm to the
right of us, and another to the left.
Now look up among the hills, you see
patches of Kaffir corn here, there and
everywhere. Overlooking these gar
dens perched prettily among the crags
are numerous little conical watch
towers and if you cared to drag your
self up to one of them, you would find
inside Il hungry Kaffir, a NANCY dog
and a spear. These are the sleepless
guardians of the corn and the sugar
cane. Again, nesting among the
kloofs or ravines, in picturesque.
groups, are the quaint round huts, the
palisades and the kraals of the ma
tives. In fact, the mountains are tenn
ing with Katfirs and the Kaffir life in
every conceivable form. There are
boys and girls bathing and romping
in every stream, there are strings of
women carrying on their heads huge
pitchers or calabashes of water or
corn, winding up and down among the
trees and the rocks. There are also
men, great brown specimens of lazy
humanity, lounging and loafing
around or driving the Dutchman's
cattle slowly homewaru.
Moreover, wherever there is a black
head there is also a voice that is jab-
boring, singing o. laughing and the
merry sounds are being echoed to and
fro among the hills in the most curl
Gus manner.
But here we are at last. This queer
looking iron shanty, half hidden by
the gum trees, is the dwelling house
as well as the store Of my friend Tom
kins, a mar l met years ago in Cape
town. He is delighted to see me.
After a while he gets rid of his GUS
toners, then we eat a little, drink a
little, light u pipes and Tomkins
says to me:
Come, Rollins, let us pay a visit