The Masked Robber

1. THE MASKED ROBBER CHAPTER 1 It is a sunny morning in the spring of 1833. There are signs of unusual hurry and excited activity in the oak lanes of Stellenbosch. It is teeming with people, like on a night meal. But the quiet, stately atmosphere is not present. On the contrary, the people run back and forth, shout impatiently at each other and everyone tries to reach the big square in the middle of the village as quickly as possible. In the midst of this crowd, two horse riders ride calmly down one of the streets at a comfortable pace. And yet, if there was someone among the crowd who was a horse connoisseur and who had given himself time to pay attention to others, he would notice that the two riders’ horses are sweaty. The beautiful animals, the jet-black mane, and the chestnut’s breathing are nevertheless slow and regular and the connoisseur would know that they had been given a chance to relax outside the village. One man turns to the other and although his face maintains the calm features, he speaks with tension in his voice. “I wonder if it is wise to expose ourselves so confidently to the public.” “Do not worry, Jacques,” the other replies with a laugh that he uses to try to rid the unrest. “Everyone is so excited that they do not pay attention to anyone. Just speak English or Dutch then you will not attract attention.” “Someone may recognize us,” his friend persists and he wanders his eyes over the crowd. The other young man laughs again. “With this beard,” he says and strokes the month-old beard on his cheeks and knows with his hand. “Come on, Jacques. We were last in this country months ago and even then nobody noticed us with an eye. Maybe from a distance or in the twilight when there was still enough light. But it is still doubtful whether the individuals who had that privilege will be present today.” “Yet, Jean, the principle is wrong. We have always worked in the dark or with masks on and we have avoided all villages and farms. Your own opinion was that we would be safer as long as we were never seen. “I know,” answers the one called Jean, “but forget that now. Since we learned to speak Dutch, we get along better because we can talk to any stranger. Today is an exception in any case. We appear in public with wild beards that we shall shave off tonight, and no one will ever dream that it is us who were here among them. Or would you prefer to hide your beautiful face forever behind that thicket?” Jacques just sighs. But his attitude is more relaxed when he looks at the people and he no longer avoids the gaze of the few who accidentally catch his eye. “You have an answer for everything,” he says with a gesture indicating that he would have followed his friend anyway, even if he had not had an answer. “I still think we are taking too much of a risk.” “To take risks has become our life. No, Jacques, I cannot share your caution.” He laughs again. “I feel today as if I am in high spirits like a child who after years of absence returns to his parents’ home. When was the last time we were among people? I think it is been all the months that I have had to stick to your face and that of Andre and Pierre and the others. Today we move freely among a crowd and we see faces, hundreds of faces, old and young, tall and round, flat noses and crooked noses...” “Your enthusiasm is not contagious,” Jacques interrupts him laughing, while he self-consciously touches his prominent but noble nose. “It is not too crooked,” he says. Jean now laughs heartily. “No to worry,” he continues, “I do not think we are taking too much of a risk. This undertaking is not characteristic of our everyday activities, but we will all find it enjoyable and varied. And just because it is so extraordinary, people will not associate today’s events with us personally. Come on, Jacques, we will get off here by the shop. We have to ascertain that the information we have is completely accurate. Judging by the crowds in the town, it cannot really be wrong.” They keep their horses in front of a shop along the street. The shopkeeper leans against one of the veranda poles and calls out to a familiar person passing by in the street. “Take a belt and hang him!” he advises a hurried young man. But before he can answer, another calls out. “You need two belts. One for the judge!” A few people laugh when they hear these words, but the ominous sound in them can be clearly felt. The two young riders have tied their horses to the crossbar and are approaching the shopkeeper. “Good morning,” Jean greets kindly. “Who are the poor devils who have come among this crowd in misfortune?” The man greets them back but looks surprised that they are so ignorant. He looks at the two strangers slowly and carefully. Despite the ruddy beard, he can see that they are young and the dust on their clothes indicates that they have travelled far. “You come from far away,” he asks, without answering the question. Jean nods. “As far as the East Coast, and beyond. We are going to Cape Town.” “Then you must be thirsty. I serve coffee inside.” They follow him inside and after enjoying a few sips of coffee, Jean continues. “You will understand that we are not up to date. It looks like communion in the middle of the week here and everyone is crowding together in the street.” The shopkeeper pulls a chair closer. “The travelling court has been sitting here for a few days now,” he says. “But is it so sensational?” “No, just one case being heard today. Wynand Rabie against that scoundrel Jan Gambas.” The shopkeeper loses the composure he has so far maintained and it is as if this topic also excites him, which can be sensed by the crowd outside. “Since Philip passed Ordinance No. 50, the Hottentots do whatever they want. They do not want to work anywhere and just wander around where they want to steal and drink, so no honest citizen is safe anymore. They are our equals now, says Ordinance Number Fifty,” and the storekeeper spits three times. Jean smiles at the man’s outraged anger that has suddenly flared up. But he shudders when he thinks about how the dissatisfaction of the crowd on the square could just as easily be driven to a c****x, and he wonders what will happen then. “It is a regrettable state of affairs,” he says, “but in regard to this Wynand...?” “As I told you,” the storekeeper interrupts him, “Rabie encountered the Hottentot on his farm and told him to leave. But Gambas was stubborn and Rabie gave him a thrashing. And if that scum,” and he wants to spit again but shows mercy on his floor, “if that Gambas does not then run straight to Philip as if he is his father.” The storekeeper takes a pull on his pipe. “I do wonder,” he says thoughtfully, “perhaps he is...” Jean laughs again. “And then?” he asks. “Well, that is all,” the man says when he realizes he cannot start a discussion. “Rabie is appearing in court today. But the judge will have to tread in his footsteps or he and Gambas will both be hanged. The whole district is here, people from far and wide.” “The judge will surely ensure that he is protected,” mentioned Jean. “I have not seen any troops around here yet. And that is the only thing that will save him. Has the case already begun?” “No, friend, it is still early. Probably in about half an hour.” “We would like to go and listen to it,” Jean says. “Then you will have to hurry. There will not be room for even a mouse in the court.” They pay for the coffee and leave. The storekeeper follows them to the door. “I wanted to inquire about the Eastern Border,” he says. “News travels so slowly.” “Things are just scraping by,” Jean replies, “but we will come back this way and tell you.” The two young men comfortably swing themselves onto their horses and gallop down the street. “Well,” said Jacques, “we heard correct and we also just arrived in time here.” “What did you arrange with Andre and Pierre?” “They are surely already here in front of us on the square. The others are waiting outside the village.” They carefully guide their horses through the crowd on the square in front of the courthouse. There is a noise that rises from the crowd like the hum of a swarm of bees, and Jean wonders again what would happen if someone threw a rock among them. “Perhaps there is still a seat or standing room inside,” he says. “These people seem to prefer the outdoors.” “Andre and the others are at the main entrance!” Jacques exclaims. They dismount and lead the horses more easily through the crowd. In front of the door, they meet two men with bushy beards like their own, who are also standing there with their horses. “Where are the others, Andre?” Jean asks one of the two men. He begins to answer in French. “Speak English!” Jacques hurriedly orders while he looks at the groups of people nearest to them. Jean laughs. “Still nervous, Jacques?” he asks. “Just careful.” “Outside the village, Count,” answers the one called Andre. “Forget the Count, Andre!” Jacques impatiently requests. “Look, monsieur Jacques,” begins Andre, who stubbornly refuses to be contradicted. It is clear that he is much older than the two friends, but that he is on a fatherly and intimate footing with them, although he is subordinate to them. “Let me finish the sentence, please! The others are waiting outside the village where we left them, Count!” And he looks threateningly at Jacques. Jean laughs. “Alright,” he says. “Hold my horse, Andre, and wait here.” He walks away from them to the corner of the large building where the court is in session. He surveys the surroundings of the square and the building itself and chats for a moment with a few farmers who are standing around him before re-joining his friends. “Come on, Jacques,” he says. They climb up to the third step leading to the entrance of the court. In front of the door itself stand two soldiers who open the door for those entering and exiting. The two friends turn around so that they are facing the soldiers with their backs to the crowd and can look out over the square. From the steps, they can easily see over the heads of the crowd. Jean explains his observations to his friend. As far as he can tell, there are only two doors in the building, the front door and a side door, both guarded by two soldiers. The side door is in a passageway on the right side of the building and provides access to two rooms behind the courtroom. “So there are only four guards,” he continues. “Two at each door. That surprises me. I expected the judge to have a troop at hand in case this crowd became rebellious.” “I think you are mistaken, Jean,” Jacques interjected. “Look at that row of horses there in front of the building diagonally to the left across the square.” “Yes indeed!” Jean agreed. “And look at the top window! You can unmistakeably see the buttons of his uniform through the windows shining.” Well, well, well, he thinks, running his hand over his beard. This “little judge” is more awake than we think. That house is full of soldiers and he probably has a whole regiment hidden around here. He suddenly laughs. “Well!” he says, “that just makes things more interesting!” He leans closer to his friend. “Suppose now you wanted to rescue someone from the claws of the court,” he whispers, “would not you slip into that passageway and overpower the two soldiers? And your clothes are so dirty and full of dust, Jacques, that you really cannot appear in court like that. I would advise you to put on one of the little soldier’s clothes before you put a gun to the little judge’s head.” Jacques also smiles, as he is accustomed to these concise orders. “And where are you?” he asks. “I will be inside and will give you the signal.” After a while, Jacques returns to Andre and Pierre where they are still waiting with the horses. He gives a few short orders and then Pierre pushes through the crowd to the street where the two riders came earlier. While Jacques is watching the horses, Andre joins Jean, where he is standing on the steps. “You are the oldest of us, Andre,” Jean says with a soft expression in his eyes. “I am placing you in the most dangerous position this morning. You know more or less what our plans are. The execution of them will largely be controlled by circumstances and everyone should use their discrete judgement. Go inside now and sit as far forward in the court as you can find an open seat. Then you wait for the developments of affairs. It will go well with you, my faithful friend,” and Jean affectionately squeezed the old man’s arm. Without further ado, Andre goes up the stairs and disappears through the large wooden door that the soldier holds open for him. Jean looks over the crowd again and nods to Jacques where he stands by the horses. Then he turns to go inside as well. As he moves, he lightly bumps into an elderly farmer who was following him. He stands politely upright. “Sorry, friend,” says the old boss and his bright eyes look for a moment at the young man. They are friendly and deep. But Jean does not notice it, because at that same instant, the young lady who apparently walks with the farmer along the stairs, also looks at him. And Jean is suddenly aware of the most wonderful feeling, like water on a thirsty throat or shade in a scorching desert. He has never seen anything more stunning or more beautiful before. But the moment is so fleeting that her image is already vague when he goes inside behind them through the large door. Inside the hall is packed with people from wall to wall. There is a soft murmur of voices, but it is muffled and uncertain and a feeling of nervousness overcomes everyone when he enters. At the very back of the hall, a few empty seats can still be found here and there. The farmer and the girl walk towards three empty places next to each other in the second row from the back. Jean follows them and sits on the third seat. He wants to look at the girl again but restrains himself because she is sitting on the other side of the man. He decides to rather pay attention to the inside of the building since he will soon need the knowledge. The judge’s chair itself is located on a platform against the back wall of the courtroom. Between the judge’s chair and the bars that separate the public, the jury box is on the right side and the partition for the accused is on the left side. There are also desks for the officials, the Attorney General, and the lawyers and attorneys who defend the case. To the left and right of the judge’s chair is a door in the wall leading to the two rooms behind the hall. He prays that there are no soldiers hiding in the rooms in case of unrest in the court because then their attempt will fail and Jacques will not come out unscathed. The elderly farmer next to him catches his attention by touching his arm. “Excuse me, friend,” he says, “but do you perhaps know when they will start?” Jean shakes his head. “I just arrived,” he replies. “And I just followed the crowd.” “Are you from far away?” The bright eyes quickly glance at the dust on the young man’s riding pants and leather vest, but the friendliness in his voice takes away all cheap curiosity. Jean has already made several acquaintances with the farming community and he knows that interest in your personal affairs is common among them. Because there is nothing in their honest and sincere lives that they need to hide, they do not harbor the suspicion that there are things that another would prefer to keep secret. What further strikes this farmer about Jean is that he apparently does not share in the general excitement, as if there is something greater and stronger within him that is not affected by such worldly matters, and which also allows him to pay attention to the man next to him. Therefore, he replies equally friendly. “From the East Border, Sir.” “That is far, friend.” “It is.” “And you came here to listen to the Rabie case?” “Well,” Jean hesitates because the question is difficult. “I am travelling further,” he says evasively. “Then you are a stranger here?” “Yes, Sir.” The farmer extends his hand. “Rossouw is my name, friend,” he says. “They call me Uncle Francois.” Jean hesitates again while he takes the hand. He will have to provide his name, another name. “Ben...” he says then. “Ben Rabie, from Cradock.” “Family of Wynand?” “No... uncle. Do you know him personally?” Uncle Francois leans back slightly in his chair. “I know him well,” he says while looking in front of him, “quite well. He is a dear innocent young man. But you know how circumstances are, you cannot always control your mood with the Hottentots. I always try to be diplomatic, but the younger boys have hot blood. They get easily upset and then do the wrong thing. Moreover, they are too stubborn to listen to our older people.” “So uncle thinks Rabie will get his deserved punishment today?” “Never, friend? Along with all these people I stand firmly behind Rabie. I just mean that something like this would not happen on my farm, I try to keep the peace. No, Rabie did the right thing. The Hottentots who treated him so casually should be punished.” “And now,” says Jean, “Rabie is the one that must be punished?” “Yes, it is a done deal against him.” “What does Uncle think his sentence will be?” “It is truly difficult to say. To me, it seems that Dr. Philip wants to make an example of this offense against his doctrine and you will know that he has a lot of influence. Do you know the judge?” “No, uncle,” Jean answers. “A rough Englishman and a loyal follower of Philip. I understand that he has already caused a lot of resentment with his unreasonable statements in the past few days. The people’s feelings have been stirred up and this case has been the only topic of conversation in the county for weeks. Everyone is tense and now just waiting to see what will happen, and if the verdict does not meet their approval, I am afraid of the consequences. It is a shame that there has to be always strife and disagreement in our young country when everyone can live together in love.” He sighs deeply and says. “That is also why I should rather leave one of these days.” For a moment they sit quietly. Then the old man continues chatting. “Yes, I just do not like these things. You will never find me in court either. Since they abolished the homelands, I do not agree with the legal system anymore. But now you know how women are, mine is the same. Look, Francois, Hannie told me last week that you should go listen to Wynand’s case. We are going to Cape Town anyway and it is on our way. Maybe you can put in a good word for him.” Uncle Francois quietly laughs. “As if I can stand up and tell the judge what to do. And when my daughter...” he hesitates as he leans closer. When she heard the conversation, she now wants to come along and watch it too. I told her it is not proper for young ladies to sit around in courtrooms because that is where all the gossip starts. But these days, young people do not listen to their parents anymore.” And he rolls his eyes in the direction of the girl next to him as if to say, as you can see, here she sits. “And here we are,” he says. “So uncle is heading for Cape Town?” “Yes, friend,” the farmer sighs. “There is dancing at the Castle tonight and the women want to go ballroom dancing and show off their dresses. A few of us farmers are using the opportunity to discuss a matter or two with the governor. Actually, the function is in honor of a nobleman who landed here a day or two ago from England, Count de Moreaux.” At that moment, the door to the left of the judge’s chair opens and a few men come in. A deathly silence falls over the courtroom. Everyone’s attention is focused on the men in their black robes and white wigs. The only sound is the scraping of chairs as they sit down at the tables, breaking the complete silence of the court. There is not even the rustling caused by the breathing of a crowd, because it is as if everyone is sitting with held breath and waiting. “At the left-hand table,” Uncle Francois continues to whisper, “there sits the Attorney General, the obese one. The man next to him is John Daily, a cousin of Fairbairn from the Commercial Advertiser and as you probably know, he is a son-in-law of Dr. Philip. No, Wynand will definitely not win this case.” The farmer’s eyes wander to the jury box where the members have already taken their seats. “Only God can help him now!” he exclaims in a hushed tone. “Why is it so?” “I recognize at least five of the jurors and they are all English-minded and supporters of the Philip army.” And yet the silence in the court persists. Everyone is waiting. The judge enters and everyone stands up, but it still looks as if nobody is interested. It is only when they lead in the accused that there is a stir among the crowd, like when a strong gust of wind shakes the leaves of a tree. He sits quietly in the dock with a court officer on either side of him. Uncle Francois was right when he told Jean that it was a foregone conclusion against Wynand Rabie. There was no doubt from the beginning. The wording of the charge indicates this. And Wynand cannot understand the accusations against him because they are read in English and he cannot speak English. Only when his lawyer briefly explains the content of the charge to him in Dutch does he realize that the few blows he gave to the Hottentot are considered a criminal assault on the person of Jan Gambas by the law. He denies being guilty. Two witnesses are called. Both are Hottentots who were working on Wynand Rabie’s farm when he committed the gruesome crime. With their hands on the Bible, they claim that the white man attacked Gambas without any reason and with murderous rage. It is a habit of Rabie to mistreat his workers like animals, they say. It is their word together with that of Jan Gambas against the word of Wynand Rabie. And the law attaches equal value to all four. The Attorney General severely disapproves of the young man’s conduct in a bombastic manner. Society, he says, can exist peacefully without such people who do not have a sense of responsibility towards their workers or cannot live in love with their fellow human beings. The community will be richer without them. The young lawyer who has to defend Wynand Rabie’s case knows that his effort will be in vain. The public on the other side of the bars will listen to him and agree with him, but here, with him, everyone, the judge, the jury, and all other officials, will simply sit bored and wait for him to finish speaking. As far as they are concerned, the case has already been dealt with. The young lawyer stands up and begins his plea. Just then, Jean leaned over and touched Uncle Francois. “What do you think, uncle?” he asked. “Is there still a chance that Rabie will be acquitted?” “Absolutely not, my friend, his sentence has already been predetermined.” “Namely?” “The cat-o’-nine-tails and life imprisonment.” “Can that be possible?” Jean exclaimed. “You do not know our friendly government and the mercy of our missionaries yet. It is clear, the Attorney General has already laid it out. The cat-o’-nine-tails because he attacked the young man. Life imprisonment to free society from such an evil and prevent the repetition of the crime, and he even explained why such a severe sentence would be inflicted by accusing the entire farming community of the same motives as Wynand’s. Wynand will serve as an example of what will happen to the rest of us if we continue with this kind of unlawful behavior. He will therefore be severely punished.” “But this crowd will not allow it,” says Jean, looking at the mass in the court who listen anxiously to the young prosecutor’s words. “They will help him.” “I pray that does not happen. It will be a gruesome bloodbath and everyone who gets involved with it will be punished more severely than Wynand Rabie himself.” Without answering, Jean stands up quietly and slips out down the row towards the aisle. He is so far back in the hall that it does not draw attention and he quietly leaves through the door. He does not go down the stairs, but stands between the two soldiers and takes a few deep breaths. Jacques is waiting for him at the corner of the building to the right. Pierre has returned and another third man is with them, who stays on his horse. This man holds the other horses, which are now a total of six, one for Wynand Rabie. Jean smiles contentedly and then nods unnoticed to Jacques. Then he turns to the soldiers behind him and says in English. “It is stuffy in there. I will faint if I cannot get some fresh air now.” “Yes,” answers one soldier, “I believe it. And how far have they progressed with the trial? We cannot hear anything as long as the door is closed.” Jean is glad to hear this because he would not want these two men to hear what is going to happen later in court. “The defence is now speaking,” he says. “The trial is almost over.” He looks again at the corner and sees that Jacques and Pierre are no longer there. They have gone down along the building to the side door where the other two soldiers are on guard. On the corner, there is only the third man left, waiting by the horses. Among the hundreds of people on the square, he is the only one who knows how the trial inside will end. Jean quietly returns and takes his place again next to the friendly farmer. The young lawyer is still speaking. He explains the insecure conditions in the colony. No one, he exclaims, dares to let a stranger Hottentot roam undisturbed on his property. He may rob him and even stab him in the back. It is not envy of their freedom or unreasonable hatred of their race, but everyone still has the right to protect his life and his possessions. Jean is not listening. He looks again at where Andre sits in the third row from the front, near the path. The old man has not yet looked back but is giving his full attention to the proceedings in front of him in the hall. Jean wonders how far Jacques and Pierre have progressed. He tries to calculate how long it will take for Jacques to make his appearance. From the time they went around the corner outside, it would not have taken longer than a minute for them to reach the soldiers, another minute and they could have beaten the two men unconscious, and after three minutes they would have been behind the building with the unconscious men, and then it would take about five minutes to put on their jackets and other upper clothes. Approximately eight or ten minutes after Jean returned, Jacques will be able to appear at the door. He will just have to come in before the jurors leave the court. The jury itself will go to the room on the right of the judge’s chair, but at the same time, the judge and the other officials will also go out to rest while the jury considers the case. And they will all leave on the left through the room through which Jacques must come in. Jean is suddenly aware that the lawyer is no longer talking. He has sat down and the deathly silence has descended on the court again. Then the judge begins to summarize the case. At least four minutes have passed since Jean returned from outside. He does not know how long the judge will continue, but Jacques must come in before he stops and as long as everyone is still sitting. Once they have stood up and left through that door, they will hinder him and complete chaos will ensue. The soldiers will be summoned and their plans will be thwarted. The judge spoke slowly, but his sentences were short and concise. He read his summary to the jury and pointed out the following to them. “It appears to me that the lawyer who should have defended this case has confused his client with the accuser. It is not the farmers who are not safe. On the contrary, the Hottentots are no longer sure of their lives, as we can learn from the testimony given here today.” A grumbling sound next to him catches Jean’s attention and he glances quickly over there. The friendly old farmer is red with outrage. But Jean does not pay attention to him because the movement at the door to the left of the judge’s chair caught his eye. The court officer who had been standing there turned around and went into the room and Jean is sure that Jacques has entered through the side door. He feels suddenly stressed because if the people in the hall are all as outraged as this old man, some of the indifferent ones might become rebellious and thwart his plans. He looks at the bench where the accused sits between the two guards. Of all the people in the large room, they are the only three who can see through the open door in the room behind them. If Jacques comes in, they will not notice anything wrong, because they will think it is just one of the soldiers. But the court officer who was standing at the door will be close to Jacques and may immediately notice that it is not one of the original two soldiers. In that case, Jacques will have to silence him by threatening him with his gun or giving him a knockout blow. In the event that the two guards look in that direction at that time, they will notice something wrong and immediately make an alarm. The few seconds that follow after the man goes into the room felt like centuries and suddenly Jean decides that he must somehow divert everyone’s attention from that door. Even if only the two guards can see through it, a fight between Jacques and the court officer may break out and others may hear it. Without hesitation, Jean jumps up. “Injustice!” he shouts as loudly as he can. He could not have picked a better moment to stand up. The judge had just finished his speech and everyone waited in complete silence for the jury to leave the room. Everyone in the courtroom looks around. Here and there a muffled scream is heard. Then there is a moment of surprised silence as the crowd watches the indifferent young man and waits for his further actions. “For heaven’s sake, son!” Uncle Francois whispers. “You must sit down! You will ruin your life by getting involved here.” But Jean pays no attention to the crowd around him or to the request of the friendly farmer. He briefly looks at the judge’s chair, at the guards of Wynand Rabie, and at the other court officials. His plan has succeeded. Everyone’s attention is focused on him and no one saw the soldier come in through the door on the left of the judge. The judge himself recovers first from the surprise and he slams his hammer on the bench. “Order! Order!” he shouts loudly. He saw the soldier who had sprung light-footed onto the stage and assumed that he had come to his aid and was standing on guard next to him. But the crowd thinks otherwise. The young man who jumped up said nothing further, and the cry of “order” diverted their attention and they focused on the judge again. Alongside him, they saw the soldier with his gun in hand, and a loud groan was heard from the crowd. What else could they think but that the soldier had been called to arrest this reckless young man? It is a dangerous groan that rises from the crowd, like the wind before a storm, a warning that violence will be committed if the hero of the morning is touched. For in everyone’s eyes, Jean has suddenly become the fighter for justice, the only one among them who has raised his voice against the unfair legal proceedings. The threatening attitude of the crowd is undoubtedly noticeable. “Prevent a bloodbath!” Uncle Francois whispers beside Jean as if he were quickly praying. The words penetrate the young man and he realizes the misunderstanding under which the people are laboring. They do not know that he and Jacques are working together. “That soldier is my friend!” he exclaimed. “Look! His gun is aimed at the judge. The crowd sees it. Again, a surprised silence descends over the hall. “I have heard the testimony in this case,” Jean continues, “and I declare the jury incompetent for the task they have been given. Therefore, I will accept their service and I find that the accused is innocent. I ask you all to remain seated while I take him away from here. A loud noise will only bring the garrison upon us that is hiding across the square.” The crowd remains quiet. Some are too surprised to give in to their feelings because there is no one who does not agree with him and the others listen and obey his warning. The judicial officials remain quiet because they are threatened with a gun. “Wynand Rabie,” Jean calls out, “please come along the path.” The young farmer immediately obeys. When he comes out from behind the barricade, the judge again reaches for his hammer. But Jacques presses the gun against him and warns everyone not to move. “Follow him, Andre,” he calls to the older man who calmly stands up from the third row in the front and walks along the path with Wynand Rabie. Jean was just about to move out of the row when he felt the firm hand of the farmer on his own. He looks back into the friendly eyes that have lost their fear and now sparkle with a grateful glow. “It is very foolish, my son,” the old man says softly, “but God will reward you.” Jean looks over his head and, for the first time since he saw her on the stairs, he looks at the beautiful Willa Rossouw. A warm glow goes through his heart when he sees the feeling of admiration in her eyes. He looks back at her father. “I am sorry,” he says, “that I could not talk honestly with you and that I had to hide my name. Until we meet again.” And at that moment, neither of them knew how soon they would in fact see each other again. Jean joins Andre and Wynand Rabie. He turns and nods at Jacques. Then the three leave together through the front door. Deadly silence reigns in the court. The people feel relieved, yet the tension has not yet passed. Everyone’s attention is focused on the soldier next to the judge as if hypnotized by his presence. And they listen anxiously to sounds from outside, because they would like to know what is happening with the three outside. But the large wooden door has closed as if it had swallowed up the three men. The thick oak wood almost does not allow any sound to pass through. “If the crowd on the square does not recognize Wynand,” Uncle Francois whispers to his daughter, “then they will be safe. Pray for them, my child.” In the door to the left of the judge’s chair where Jacques had previously appeared, Pierre suddenly appears. A few cries of warning resound through the hall when the people see the second soldier. They believe that the young man threatening the judge with his gun is now in danger. But then they hear how the stranger calls out to the other in a friendly tone. “What is he saying?” Uncle Francois asks his daughter. “He spoke French,” she replies. “He said. “Come, Sir, the others are waiting.” “If anyone moves,” Jacques exclaims as he jumps off the stage, “or tries to follow me!” He swings the gun threateningly back and forth. The two men dressed as soldiers step back and slip out the door. The sound of bolts being pushed shut echoes loudly through the court. For a few seconds, there is still silence and then suddenly a loud cheer erupts outside on the square. “Someone recognized Wynand,” Uncle Francois notes. As if the sound outside wakes up the officials and puts their minds back into action, the two guards jump up and run to the door through which the two soldiers left. They pull on the knob and pound on the panels with their fists. “Stupid fools!” the attorney general snarls at them. “It is locked! Go out the front door and call the troops!” The guards hurry to the gate in the bars and behind them, the court officials storm... But it is too late. The crowd suddenly begins to move and starts to leave. The people press tightly against each other in the path so that no one can pass through them from behind. “Fire your gun into the air!” orders the resident magistrate to one of the guards, “so that the soldiers across can hear it.” The guard does it without hesitation. But even this is too late. Because louder than the noise inside the hall and the loud cheers outside, the sound of horse hooves on the square can be clearly heard. Uncle Francois and his daughter are among the first to be outside. They look around, but there is only the bustling crowd to see. The uncle quickly spots someone he is friends with and anxiously inquires about what has happened. “We all became quiet,” he tells them, “because we felt that the trial was coming to an end. Someone came out a little earlier and told that to the two soldiers. Then the door opened and three men came out. The one was the same man who had come to catch his breath earlier. But apparently none of those in front of us knew Rabie. In any case, the three stood on the steps for a moment and Rabie lowered his head so that his face could not be seen. The two soldiers and a few of us called out to them and asked how the trial was progressing, but the bearded young man replied that it would take a while longer. Then they descended the steps and walked to the horses on the corner. All three were already in the hall when someone suddenly exclaimed. It is Rabie, Wynand Rabie, sitting on the horse. A few others recognized him and we all cheered, although we really did not know what was going on. We assumed that Rabie had been acquitted. The four riders, because there was another who had been waiting there the whole time, sat and waited for a few moments and all looked down the lane along the court. They had two saddled-up horses with them and they held them with their backs to the gate. Fortunately, the soldiers at the door did not know what was going on, because they could not tell anything from the noise we were making. They dumbly stared at the riders as if they were some important people we were cheering for. Just then two soldiers storm out of the alley. Some of us wanted to help the riders because we thought Rabie would be arrested again, but before we could move, the soldiers jump in the saddles of the two horses like a whirlwind and dashed down the street. It was only then that the soldiers noticed the trouble and fired a few shots in the air. And what do you think happened then? It is as if all the houses on that side of the square came to life as the troops burst out of them. But they were too late. They will never catch up with those riders. And to think,” concludes Uncle Francois’s friend. “That we were surrounded by a mass of soldiers all the time. The judge must have smelled a rat early on, but he did not show it. That shallow hypocrite judge and yet the kidnappers were too smart for him. They must have bribed a few of the soldiers!” “Not bribed!” says Uncle Francois, “look there, friend,” and he points to the corner of the court where two unconscious men are being carried out. His friend laughs. “It is their deserved reward,” he says. “But what happened inside, uncle? Who are the guys who started such a bold piece of work?” “I do not know who they are,” says Uncle Francois thoughtfully and he tells his friend what he knows and what he saw. Then they greet each other and part. “I wonder what they will do with Wynand,” the old man thinks as he and Willa walk across the square to the house where they are booked for the night. “He will have to flee for his life unless we change governments.” “We can move, Daddy,” Willa suggests. “Everyone talks about moving.” “Yes indeed.” Uncle Francois walks in silence for a while and then suddenly laughs. “Now Hannie will never let me rest,” he says cheerfully. “But why would Mom do that?” Willa asks. “She wanted me to say a word for Wynand. Then I told her it was completely impossible and it just cannot be done. But you know how your Mom is. I could do it if I had enough compassion for my fellow man. In any case, I told the young man in court this morning how ridiculous my wife’s request was. Then he stood up and did not just say a word, but actually freed Wynand. He thinks for a moment and then suddenly asks. “You say the one guy spoke French?” “Yes, he did.” “Mm... Well, I wonder. They say the Masked Robber and his gang speak French.” “Never!” Willa exclaims. “It could never have been the Masked Robber.” And in her mind’s eye, she sees again the bearded face of the young man with whom her father was sitting and chatting. It was a strong face, a noble face. And those eyes that looked so intensely into hers were full of character and humanity. “Never!” she repeats. She never wants the image of that hero to be robbed of its beautiful qualities by comparing it to the atrocities of the man they call the Masked Robber. Her father does not answer but looks thoughtfully at the ground in front of him. “I still wonder,” he mutters.