e game in the small strip of British territory, and
Halloran had made one or two abortive attempts to arrange a shooting
and exploring trip into the German hinterland. Every one had warned him
of the extreme peril from the shifting sand-dunes. Moreover, the war
between the Germans and the Hereros was at its height, and the
lieutenant in charge of the small garrison at Swakopmund had cautioned
him not to venture beyond the limit of their patrols. There was no
steamer for ten days, so that it was a veritable godsend to him when
late one evening he received a message from the same friendly
lieutenant to the effect that if he cared, he was welcome to accompany
a patrol party which was to leave early the following morning in the
direction of the little-known Geiesib Mountains. He might bring his
rifle, as there was a chance of some buck.

Daylight found Halloran in the saddle on his way to the German
quarters. The patrol consisted of ten troopers in addition to his
friend the lieutenant, who explained that two of his men who had been
sent on patrol in that direction a few days previously had not
returned, and that he hoped to find traces of them. "What do you think
has happened to them?" Halloran asked. The German shrugged his
shoulders. "A hundred things may have happened," he said "the Hereros
or the Bushmen they may be under one of the shifting dunes or they are
lost and may be dying of thirst who knows?"

The heat was terrific: the vibrant atmosphere over the red-hot sand
looked as though it had become molten, and the glare to the eye was
almost insufferable. There was not a breath of air stirring. Indeed, it
was due solely to this fact that the patrol had ventured to cross the
shifting dunes. Later, when the wind blew, it would be courting death
to attempt it.

A few hours' sharp trot brought them to the nearest spurs of the
mountain, where water had been found, by digging in the sand, bitter
brak, but still drinkable, and here they had hoped to have found the
lost troopers. But no trace of the missing men was to be seen. And over
a hasty lunch Haussmann, the lieutenant, expressed his fear that they
might never be found, but would go to swell the list of men who from
time to time had disappeared from their little garrison. "In two
years," he said, "I have lost nine men. First there were Schmidt,
Muller, and Brandhof, who were lost in the colossal and never-to-be-
forgotten storm soon after I arrived; then my orderly