Far, far away to the south-west I saw faithful Hendrick approaching. I would not wait for him; he was too distant. My paramount need just then was shade--even if such could only be found under the tilt of a wagon where the thermometer probably stood at 112 Fahrenheit. Hendrick's needs were elementary; he would be delighted with the meat and the inferior black feathers which I had not thought it worth while to pluck. With the latter Hendrick and his kindred would adorn their disreputable hats. But their actions would be less opposed to Nature's plan than mine, for it was the men who would go sombrely gay, not their woman-kind. The tramp back to camp was long and wearisome. Could it be that I strode along the same course whereon a few short hours ago I had paced hand in hand with gentle dreams? There,--on that dusty, gasping sun-scorched flat? Could it be that the stars and the soothing dew lay beyond that expanse of flaming sky, and that the laggard night, with healing on her dusky wings, would draw them down once more? That day Danster was on his way from Gamoep with the horses. That afternoon Piet Noona and his imp-like nephew would hurry the oxen over the desert towards our camp; they should arrive the following night. On the next day we intended to break camp and trek back westward. The return journey would not be so arduous for the cattle; we should have used up the greater part of the water, and the load would be correspondingly lighter. The horses arrived soon after sundown,--old "Prince" with his deep chest, his powerful quarters, and his broad, shoeless, almost spatulate feet. The other horse, "Bucephalus," was a big, raw-boned black stallion which Andries had in training. Hendrick was, so far, the only one able to ride him. Night once more--with the recurrent miracle of the dew-fall and the stars. Typhon slept. Of what was he dreaming? Of the far-off day when the overflowing measure of his infamy caused the decree of his banishment to be pronounced,--of the lands he ravaged and blighted on his southward course,--of his enemy, the rain-god, who smote him with the river-sword and thus crippled him for ever? But man also must sleep--and on the morrow I had to journey to the Kanya-veld. CHAPTER FIVE. THE KANYA--THE SPELL OF THE DESERT--MY HORSE--THE TERROR OF NOON-- EXECUTION OF A MARAUDER. Another glorious morning; the air was like cooled, sparkling wine. I knew, both by the taste and the direction of the wind, that the day would be as mild as it ever was in the desert at that season of the year. Through the faint dew-haze a hint of invitation--with a tender, enigmatic suggestion of a smile, shone out of the east. That was the day set apart for my journey to the Kanya-veld, the fringe of which lay about ten miles distant, beyond Typhon's eastern flank.