We rested again at the “Ki-man Klip” and tried to lure the big snake out by means of dynamite, but without avail. We again negotiated without mishap the various bad places, though my state of blue funk whilst crossing the sand-slide was not lessened by the fact that a big crowd of baboons kept pace with us on the rocks above, hooting, barking, and occasionally sending big stones down at us. But, scratched, torn, ragged, and sun-flayed, but otherwise sound, we at length found ourselves back in the Tatas Bergen--where several of our pegs were already standing. Soon we were on our old tracks, as our guide stalked up a well-known ravine, and I could see murder in Ransson’s eye as he chewed at his old brier. But one by one we passed the ravines leading to our other pegs, and when at length we had to leave our horses and climb, it was up an entirely new peak, and our hopes ran high. At length, on a high ridge, Jacob halted and pointed dramatically to an outcrop--and copper it was, and a good deal of it. But under no stretch of the imagination could it be called a “mountain” of copper--in fact, in no single particular did it answer to the place described by Preuss. No! we had been fooled again--though this time I felt our cicerone had been innocent of intent to deceive, and therefore could not be shot out of hand--indeed, he had shown us a very nice prospect! So after we had pegged the spot we sat down and gave him some _tabaki_, and I questioned him. “Now, Jacob,” I said, “what sort of a man was this Herr Preuss?” “Wit man,” he said, promptly. “Yes, I know he was white, but what was he like? Tall? Short? Fair? Dark?--what?” “Ja, Herr Kaptein.” (He always called me “Kaptein” when I gave him _tabaki_.) “Was he a big, tall, fair man--like Baas Ransson?” “Ja, Herr Kaptein.” (Ransson’s about 5 feet, and has the complexion of a sunburnt Zulu.) “Lot of hair--big beard like me, eh?” “Ja, Herr Kaptein.” (I’m bald--no beard.) “Sure his name was Preuss?” “Ja, Herr Kaptein.” “Wasn’t it Smith?” “Ja, Herr Kaptein.” “Or Jones--or Brown--or Robinson?” “Ja, ja, Herr Kaptein.” “Right,” I said; “this must be the spot. This Court acquits you. Any man who has been guide to the white man you describe has my sincere sympathy.” We spent a few days in the vicinity, finding numerous copper prospects, and eventually decided to try to reach Kuboos through the mountains instead of going back by the Orange to Zendling’s Drift. _En route_ we hoped to be able to look at the “native” copper we had heard so much about, the road to which was known to both our guides. So we planned to cross to our previous water-hole in the Gauna Gulip River.