ing the first week, small temporary pans of water left by
the rains had saved a good deal of hardship; but after that time it was
only with the greatest difficulty that a sufficient supply for the oxen
and horses could be hit upon in each three or four days of travel. The
country, too, was not an easy one. Sometimes they laboured amid heavy
calcareous sand, through thick forests of mopani, where the axe had to
be constantly at work to make a passage. At others thorny bush
obstinately barred the way. Anon they moved across great dazzling
plains of long grass, now turning once more to a blinding yellow beneath
the too ardent sun. The pleasant groves of dark-green giraffe-acacia,
masking a reddish, sandy soil, offered welcome relief now and again; but
even here a road had sometimes to be cut, and the toil was long and
exhausting.

One evening, just at sundown, at the end of a month, the wagon reached
the remains of a shallow pool of rain-water, much fouled by game, and
rapidly vanishing by evaporation. The oxen had trekked almost
incessantly for two days and nights, and were gaunt and wild with
thirst. The noisome mixture of mud and water stank abominably, but the
two barrels were empty, and had to be recruited against the journey
ahead of them. These filled, the oxen and horses were allowed to drink
moderately, leaving a bare supply for the morning before they should
move forward again.

Hume Wheler and Joe Granton had come in with the wagon. Lane had ridden
forward forty-eight hours since with a Bushman picked up at the last
water, with the object of finding a desert fountain far distant in the
wilderness, where the next supply of water was to be obtained. Upon the
strength of this fountain hinged the safety of the expedition in the
last trek of nearly a week--waterless except for this supply--before
Tapinyani's kraal should be reached.

After a poor supper of tough, tinned "bully beef"--they had had no time
to shoot game--and a mere sip at the poisonous and well-nigh undrinkable
coffee, brewed from the foul water of the pool, Hume Wheler lay by the
fire smoking in moody contemplation. The day had been desperately hot,
and the work very hard, and even now, as night with her train of stars
stepped forth upon the heaven, the air was close and still. Joe Granton
had climbed up to the wagon for more tobacco. His cheerful nature was
little downcast, even by the trials and worries of the past days; and
now, as