hings again; they are past and done with. Our
ways are different, and it is better that we should see as little of one
another as possible."

She spoke almost with excitement, and her hands, folded, as all good
Dutch women fold them, beneath her black apron, to protect them from the
strong African sun, had become disengaged, and lent themselves with a
slight gesture of impatience to enforce her words.

She turned away, saying as she went, "Good-night, Meneer Oosthuysen,"
and took the path to her wagon.

"Good-night, and the Lord bless you, Hendrika," replied the Boer, as he
moved towards his oxen.

Two mornings later the Boer envoys returned from interviewing Khama.
They brought word that the chief was willing to allow passage for the
whole trek across his country, but that he strongly advised them to
proceed in small bands at a time, or the scant waters of the thirst-land
between him and the Lake River would fail them. If the whole seventy or
eighty wagons attempted to cross in a body, they would find barely
sufficient water to supply half a dozen spans of oxen at a time, and
disaster must ensue. This was Khama's advice; he had, as he sent word,
no present quarrel with the Boers, and would help them through his
country; but he urged them, if they wished to pass safely across the
desert, to weigh well his words, and trek in parties of twos and threes.

There was much consultation over this message. Some few hunters, who
knew the chief and had made the trek, were strongly for taking his
advice; but against these few men there was strong and fierce
opposition. All the ignorant, the obstinate, and the self-opinionated--
and they formed the majority--held that no Kaffir's word was to be
trusted. Who was this Khama but a natural foe of the Transvaal? No
doubt he wished them to travel in families of twos and threes, that he
might the better attack their wagons and cut them up piecemeal.

After several days of hot discussion, it was finally decided that all
should move together, and that the trek should begin with the following
week, by which time the scattered flocks and herds would be collected.

It was a month after the beginning of the trek that Piet Van Staden and
his wife and child found themselves in the middle of the thirst-land,
between the waters of Kanne and Inkouane--that is to say, in about the
worst bit of the Kalahari--in heavy sand, under a broiling sun, and
without one single drop of water for th