, but
the greater portion of his instep rotted away, and he became a physical
wreck. For a tune he completely lost the use of the muscles of his
eyelids; for months he had to use his hands when he wanted to open or
shut his eyes.

After abandoning the shaft, Wolff and I were instructed to drive a
tunnel into the hillside on the southern fall of the saddle. We took
this work under contract, at so much per foot. The driving involved the
use of props and slabs; these had to be cut and trimmed in a forest
situated more than a mile away, beyond a deep valley on the northern
face.

South African timber is notoriously close-grained and heavy;
consequently the humping of those green balks through the valley and
over the saddle to the tunnel was almost the heaviest and most painful
work I have ever perspired under. Felling the trees and dressing the
timber was child's play compared to it.

One day while engaged in felling I had an adventure with a mamba. Wolff
and I were working in a steep sided gully which contained small,
isolated patches of timber; he was felling a tree about fifty yards
above me. It crashed down, its crown striking a patch of scrub. Out of
this a large mamba glided and came down the gully, straight for me. I
could not climb out, so I made myself as small as possible against the
gully-side. The snake passed within a few feet of me, but made no
attempt to attack.

Snakes and leopards were very plentiful about our camp. A large python
dwelt in a krantz within less than a hundred yards of our tent. The
creature was often seen, but it always escaped when we ran over with
our guns on receiving a report that it was sunning itself. The trees
were covered with the claw marks of leopards.

Before very long a few diggers came and prospected in the vicinity of
the saddle for surface gold. Among them was one of the strangest
characters I have ever met. His name was John Mulcahy. Originally from
my own county, Tipperary, he had gone to California in the early days
of the "placer" mines. He and Bret Harte had been mates. Mulcahy had
prospected far and wide among the Rocky Mountains, and had even crossed
the Yukon River on one of his trips.

Solitary in his habits and possessed of a most violent temper, Mulcahy
was usually disliked by those with whom he came in contact. But he
attracted me very strongly. Aged, I should say, about forty five
yellow-bearded, exceedingly handsome, strong, and tall there was,
neverthel