“You’ll maybe get as far as ‘Wag Brand,’” were Oberholzer’s last words; “not that you’ll ever get the cart there, but on foot you may do it: then you’ll have to come back. There’s a bit of a footpath that far, but it ends on the bank of the river, and you can’t get farther that way. Good-bye, so-long; see you back in a couple of days.” However, we had long since learnt to take nothing for granted, and so we struck across rough but still negotiable country, away from the river, and hoped for the best. And our luck held, for though we had to zigzag in and out of huge boulders and round granite kopjes that barred our way every few hundred yards, we still managed to keep something of a course, and made steady progress. At every step the country grew wilder and more interesting; moreover, its general characteristics resembled those narrated in Brydone’s narrative so closely that our conviction grew at every step that we were indeed on the path of the man who, forty long years before, had penetrated this wild country and brought out a fortune. Rocks and ridges of startlingly vivid colours criss-crossed with numerous quartz reefs, in which the huge black crystals of tourmaline were exceptionally prominent; bright red and yellow sandstones, bare, clean, and looking red-hot in the bright sun, with prominent serrated ridges, and kopjes of jet-black and shining dolerites, amongst which the frequent outcrops of beautiful rose quartz showed up in startling contrast. Every dry stream-bed (and they were many) was full of large water-worn blocks of this lovely pink, translucent stone. Now, Brydone had mentioned blocks and fragments of “rock crystal” in his narrative, and we concluded, much to our own satisfaction, that he must have referred to this remarkable quantity of rose quartz, and welcomed it as a proof that we were hot on the scent. Late in the afternoon we entered a most picturesque bit of country, where the fantastic kopjes were standing in small but thickly grassed open spaces, and where the usual sand-rivers were bordered with thick vegetation, principally of _cameel-doorn_ trees, upon which the yellow bloom was thick, and the air full of its fragrance. This pleasant spot, I afterwards learnt, was known as “Knog Knieu” by the Bushmen, who made almost their last stand here. [Illustration: HOTTENTOT REFUGEES FROM THE GERMANS AT MOUTH OF THE MOLOPO, ORANGE RIVER.] [Illustration: INTERNATIONAL BEACON IN THE BAK RIVER, BORDER OF GERMAN SOUTH-WEST.]