r. As for the driver and leader, I know not
what became of them: probably fearing my anger, they bolted, taking the
oxen with them. I have never seen them from that hour to this.

"I sat down on the black veldt by the spring, and gazed at the charred
axles and disselboom of my waggon, and I can assure you, ladies and
gentlemen, I felt inclined to weep. As for Mashune and Hans they cursed
away vigorously, one in Zulu and the other in Dutch. Ours was a pretty
position. We were nearly 300 miles away from Bamangwato, the capital of
Khama's country, which was the nearest spot where we could get any help,
and our ammunition, spare guns, clothing, food, and everything else,
were all totally destroyed. I had just what I stood in, which was a
flannel shirt, a pair of 'veldt-schoons,' or shoes of raw hide, my
eight-bore rifle, and a few cartridges. Hans and Mashune had also each
a Martini rifle and some cartridges, not many. And it was with this
equipment that we had to undertake a journey of 300 miles through a
desolate and almost uninhabited region. I can assure you that I have
rarely been in a worse position, and I have been in some queer ones.
However, these things are the natural incidents of a hunter's life, and
the only thing to do was to make the best of them.

"Accordingly, after passing a comfortless night by the remains of
my waggon, we started next morning on our long journey towards
civilization. Now if I were to set to work to tell you all the troubles
and incidents of that dreadful journey I should keep you listening
here till midnight; so I will, with your permission, pass on to the
particular adventure of which the pair of buffalo horns opposite are the
melancholy memento.

"We had been travelling for about a month, living and getting along
as best we could, when one evening we camped some forty miles from
Bamangwato. By this time we were indeed in a melancholy plight,
footsore, half starved, and utterly worn out; and, in addition, I was
suffering from a sharp attack of fever, which half blinded me and made
me weak as a babe. Our ammunition, too, was exhausted; I had only one
cartridge left for my eight-bore rifle, and Hans and Mashune, who were
armed with Martini Henrys, had three between them. It was about an hour
from sundown when we halted and lit a fire--for luckily we had still a
few matches. It was a charming spot to camp, I remember. Just off the
game track we were following was a little hollow, fringed