10 feet or more in height, were many-branched instead of consisting of a single trunk, and may possibly be a different variety. Of animal life there was but little. On the higher peaks, the chamois-like klipbok could occasionally be seen standing on an isolated point and tempting a long shot, but in the valleys a few leopards and wild-cat, a slinking hyæna or jackal, were all that were ever seen. Just before leaving, a Hottentot came in riding an ox, and claimed through an interpreter that he knew of the whereabouts of a “mountain” of copper, rumours of which I had heard from various sources before. A certain German prospector named Preuss--a man whose word I absolutely believe--had told me that some years back he had endeavoured to trek through these mountains from the vicinity of the Great Fish River--which runs through German South-West--into the Orange. Some natives had guided him; it had been an exceptionally dry season, and they had nearly died of thirst, but in a remote spot he had come upon a whole mountain of copper ore. He wanted water more than copper, and had no licence anyway, so he made no attempt to peg it, but he told me of it in Cape Town, and gave me the names of the Richtersfeldt natives who had brought him through. I had made inquiries from the Mission, and this chap was the first result. He gave us his name, but I cannot reproduce it--it sounded like a hungry man swallowing oysters. Anyway, he said he could guide us to that mountain, and that it was three days’ trek away, so we rationed him, and made him happy with tobacco, and prepared to trek. A man was sent away to bring in the oxen, which were grazing some days away; the waggon was left in charge of Peter, with instructions to meet us at Zendling’s Drift fourteen days later; and with scant rations in our saddle-bags, we started off again, under the guidance of the ox-rider. His route led us back to the Orange--a few miles above where we had struck it before, but through quite a different series of ravines, in which we again came upon numerous copper indications, all of which we ignored, in view of the “whole mountain” of it to which we were being guided. But alas! our guide turned out to be a bigger romancer than Klaas Zwartbooi, for after two days of hard trekking, he landed us at a little patch of green carbonate the size of a tea-tray, and solemnly pronounced this to be the spot we were looking for! We had passed at least a dozen better prospects _en route_ without taking the trouble to turn aside from the path! This was heart-breaking, and I never felt more homicidal in my life. We could get nothing out of the brute: he spoke no word of any language but the “click,” and old Ezaak’s (our other guide) few words of English and Dutch were quite unequal to the occasion.