



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




A Veldt Official, by Bertram Mitford.

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A VELDT OFFICIAL, BY BERTRAM MITFORD.



CHAPTER ONE.

"WHERE'S DOPPERSDORP?"

"Now where the very mischief _is_ Doppersdorp?"

He who thus uttered his thoughts aloud looked up from the sheet of paper
in his hand, and gazed forth over the blue waters of Algoa Bay.  Over
the vessels riding at their anchorage his gaze wandered, over the
stately hulls of two or three large mail steamships similar to that upon
whose deck he then stood; over the tall, tapering masts and web-like
rigging of numerous sailing craft; over the flotilla of cargo-boats and
lighters; over the low, sandy shores and sunbaked buildings of busy,
dusty Port Elizabeth, right away to the bold ridges of the Winterhoek
range looming black and hazy to the blue heavens; then returned to
re-peruse the large official communication.  Thus it began:--

Sir,--I have the honour to inform you that His Excellency the Governor,
with the advice of the Executive Council, has been pleased to appoint
you to be--provisionally--clerk to the Resident Magistrate of
Doppersdorp, and distributer of stamps...  Then followed particulars as
to salary, and, with the request that the recipient would be good enough
to proceed to that place as soon as possible, somebody whose name he
could not quite decipher, but whose style was "Acting Under Colonial
Secretary," had the honour to be his obedient servant.

The letter was dated from the Colonial Secretary's Office, and was
directed to "Roden Musgrave, Esq."

"The pay is not profuse," soliloquised the fortunate recipient of this
missive, "especially to make a fresh start upon at my time of life.
Well, the old saw about beggars and choosers holds good, but--where the
very deuce _is_ Doppersdorp?"

"Hallo, Musgrave!  Had ten thousand a year left you?" cried a jolly,
hail-the-maintop sort of voice behind him.

Its owner was a powerfully built man of middle age, whose handsome face,
bronzed and bearded, was lit up by a pair of keen brown eyes with a
merry twinkle in them which was more than half satirical.  He was clad
in a dark blue, gold-laced, quasi-naval uniform.

"You know something about this country, eh, skipper?" said the other,
turning away from the taffrail, over which he had been leaning.

"I ought to by now, considering the number of years I've had to do with
it," was the confident reply.

"So?  Well, I'll bet you a bottle of Heidsieck you don't answer the
first question I put to you concerning it.  But whether I win or lose
it'll be our parting drink together."

"Our parting drink?  Man alive, what sort of humbug are you talking?
Aren't we going on as far as Natal together, and haven't we only just
begun our unlading?  That means two days more here, if not three.  Then
we are sure to be kept a couple of days at East London.  So this day
week we can talk about our parting drink, not to-day."

"Never mind that for a moment.  Is that bet on?"

"All right--yes.  Now then, what's the question?"

"Where is Doppersdorp?"

"Eh?"

"To be more explicit--what section of this flourishing colony is
distinguished by the proud possession of the town or village of
Doppersdorp?"

"I'll be hanged if I know."

"I thought not.  Skipper, you've lost; so order up the Monopole, while