journey. Our distance from Molopolole was about fifteen miles; nevertheless I determined to make my way back, and to ask Sechele to despatch some horsemen over Khatsisive’s country in search of the rascals; and finding next morning that the rain had almost ceased, accompanied by Boly and Pit, I set out on foot to the town.
I walked for five hours, but my heavy boots had by that time rendered my feet so painful that I was obliged to stop; and sitting down on the grass at the edge of the pass leading into the Molopolole valley, I sent Boly and Pit to carry my messages to Sechele and Mr. Price.
Hour after hour went slowly by, foreboding no good for the success of their mission, and when they joined me again quite late in the afternoon, it was only to confirm my fear that all search had been unavailing.
It was little less than martyrdom that I endured all the way back to the waggon. Unable to bear the pressure of my boots, I was compelled to walk barefooted, and as the rain had washed down on to the road countless seeds of a kind of ranunculus (R. crepens), that the Boers on account of their prickliness have named “Devil’s grit,” my agonies can be better imagined than described.
Only just before midnight we caught sight of the blaze of our camp-fire, and were greeted with a cheer of welcome.
As the place had no pleasant associations for us, we started as soon as we could on the following
