to the veld and tore wildly across it, making straight for the long line of willows that marked the river's bank. Here we were bound to come a most unholy smash, provided we ever reached it, but I knew there were far too many ant-heaps on the way, and to run against any one of these, which we were sure to do, would be quite enough to upset our apple-cart. From the moment Conway threw away the ribbons I knew I must come an awful mucker, and had philosophically prepared myself for the inevitable smash. He simply leant back in his seat, giving vent to his peculiar bursts of laughter, while the other two, sobered up by the danger, howled curses, entreaties and pious ejaculations in a duet that would have been highly diverting under other circumstances. Now events that are inevitable usually happen--at least, that is my experience--and we had not travelled far across the veld when the off-side wheel of the cart struck an ant-heap, some two feet high, bang in the middle, when I immediately and involuntarily vacated my seat. Yes; I left it in the same manner as a war rocket should leave its trough, and I described the same sort of a flight as one of those infernal machines very often used to do, for when I had described a parabola through the air, and had reached the full height of the trajectory, I turned a complete somersault. Then my specific gravity bringing me back to mother earth, I landed on my feet, ran a few yards so as to ease off the momentum of my flight, and came to a halt, devil a cent the worse. This was luck, and I turned round to see what had become of my companions, one or more of whom I feared must be badly hurt. Conway was all right, that was evident, as he was sitting on an ant-heap taking a pull at a bottle of whisky that had somehow escaped the debacle. Looking round, I saw the horses still galloping, dragging the remains of the cart, smashed to flinders, behind them. They disappeared among the willows, and I could conjecture the awful mess there must be at the foot of the river's bank. I longed to go to their assistance, for I dearly love a horse, but I first turned to our two mates, for although they were, in my opinion, far the worse brutes, still they were human brutes, and fashion makes us serve them first. Going to them as they lay amidst a debris of lamps, cushions, karosses, etc., I saw one of them was not only knocked silly but had broken his left arm and, by the way he breathed and looked, I diagnosed concussion of the brain. The other had broken his left leg, had acquired a beautiful gravel rash all over his face and was swearing at old Conway with much volubility. I was rendering the poor devils first aid, and begging Conway to walk on to the hotel to get more help, when we were hailed from the road by a well-known Kimberley sawbones, who, having providentially viewed the smash-up from a cross-road, had borne down to our assistance. A mob of Dutchmen and