At the pool known as “Brakfontein” there were traces of an ancient settlement, with many of the circular graves made by the Hottentots before they became Christianised, and in the sandstone cliffs were many small caves which showed signs of having been inhabited; but I searched in vain for any trace of Bushman paintings. These sandstones resembled those of the Zwartmodder series; in places they are interbedded with shales and quartzite, showing many signs of earth movement and lateral pressure. On the morning of the fifth day a light waggon arrived and we lost no time in trekking. Three days later we were at Kuboos, where we stored our heavy gear with the native teacher, and began making arrangements for our next move. Whilst delayed at Port Nolloth we had gathered much more information as to the old discovery of gold in “Dabee River,” at which we had worked successfully on our previous trip, and had arrived at the conclusion that we had been taken to the wrong spot. Our informants told us that at the right place nuggets could be picked up in abundance, and it was obvious that they thought little of us for not coming back with a load of gold! More, there was forthcoming an intelligent coloured man who had accompanied the first expedition, and seen and helped pick up the first nuggets, and who for a substantial consideration would come with us and show us the real spot. And as we did not like the idea that possibly an El Dorado was all the time waiting near where we had tried in vain, we decided to let this chap take us there, and altered our plans accordingly. We had no intention, however, of taking a waggon through Hell’s Kloof again, and tried to obtain a Scotch cart, but in vain. There were several waggons at Kuboos, but the only cart available was the one we had placed _hors de combat_. However, it had been dragged in behind the waggon, and a close examination showed that, although the axle had buckled to a V-shape, the wheels and body were fairly sound, and Poulley said we could mend it ourselves. There was plenty of wood in the river-bed, and, turning to, we soon had a big fire, and the axle was heated red-hot and hammered straight, and the cart ready to start again before the group of open-mouthed Hottentots watching us knew what we were doing. With a light load drawn by six oxen, our horses, and a few “boys,” we started the following morning down the long dry Annis River towards Hell’s Kloof. To the right rose the formidable range through which we must eventually find a way, on our left, towards the sea, the rolling plain, covered with dark scrub, stretched as far as the eye could reach, dreary, solitary, uninhabited. Far ahead, through the already shimmering heat, lay the dark winding belt of trees bordering the Orange, and faint against the glaring sky showed the high, fantastic peaks in German territory.