The wagon was only about four miles away--as the crow flies. But unfortunately the wagon was not a crow--and goodness only knew how far westward that wretched dune extended. However, even if it reached to Gamoep Andries would have to keep on its southern flank until he rounded the extremity. I began to feel miserably cold, for I had no jacket. To complete my misery the sky again clouded over and a thin rain commenced to fall. I tied old Prince to a bush and removed his saddle. But means of the latter I should, at all events, be able to protect my neck and shoulders from the wet. Then I sat on the ground among the carcases and piled them around me; only my head emerged from the mass. The whole lot, numbering eighteen, were requisitioned for this unusual service. The water trickled in but the dead bucks still retained some heat and for a time I was fairly comfortable. But as the hours passed the carcases grew cold and colder; my misery became acute. The night was pitch black. I had enough candle-bush to make a flare for about half-an-hour, but prudence prompted me to delay this operation so as to give Andries time to get round the extremity of the dune--wherever that might be. I fired my rifle occasionally, but the wind was blowing steadily and Andries' course was down to windward. At length, after a seemingly interminable period of wretchedness, I lit my candle-bush flares one by one. They blazed brightly and gave out a certain amount of grateful heat, but soon they came to an end, and I stole back to my sepulchre among the now stone-cold carcases. The steady rain trickled down; I was by this time wet through. I wondered as to whether I would be able to endure the misery until morning. I had quite made up my mind that Andries would not be able to find me. The night was too black; there were no hills nor other salient landmarks to guide him to the spot. Looking to westward before we started I could see that the dune was full of forks and branches in that direction. I tried to comfort myself with anticipation of the enormous candle-bush fire I would make as soon as day broke, and the breakfast of broiled springbuck liver I would consume. My matches were safe in a waterproof pouch. How leaden-footed is time when one is miserable! An earth-tremor; a telephone-message thrilling along the earth's sensitive surface--telling of hoofs and wheels in rythmic motion. Had the miracle happened? Yes,--the wagon rolled up and my martyrdom was at an end. _Deo gratias_!