Hastily we lowered a bucket and heard the delightful cool “splash, splash,” as we hauled it up with thirsty anticipation. I had a tin beaker in my hand to get first dip, but van Reenen, always the thirstiest, was not standing on ceremony, but flung himself down and tilted the whole bucket to his lips, and simultaneously with the yell he gave as he emitted that long draught came a SMELL! There are no words to describe it!... Rotten eggs and black powder principally, perhaps, and scientifically I believe it was only sulphuretted hydrogen, and rather healthy than otherwise; at the same time I quite sympathised with the near-side leading ox, who promptly kicked van Reenen severely when he hopefully offered the innocent animal the remainder of that bucketful. These aromatic wells are called _stink water_ or _stink fonteins_ by the Boers, whose language is both terse and expressive. Fourteen days from our leaving Upington we arrived at the farm from which we proposed to enter the Reserve, a place called Boomplaats, where the dry Molopo--which most of the journey had been bare of trees or any vestige of vegetation--was scattered with magnificent camel-thorn trees of great age and girth, and shaped like a very symmetrical oak. Here there was a small homestead and good water, the owner, a well-to-do Boer named Rauchtenbach, had plenty of trek animals and waggons, and we hoped to be able to arrange for water transport to our first camp, as far as practicable eastward in the Reserve. Rauchtenbach assured us that there could be no t’samma for months, as he had entered the Reserve after strayed cattle a few days previously, and had for a full day’s journey seen no sign of rain having fallen, without which there would be no t’samma. Old Gert had wished us to enter a day farther south and make for “Aar Pan,” where he considered it would be best to work from to locate the nearest diamond pan, but we had feared to venture with the waggons until we had spied out the land. On hearing Rauchtenbach’s report as to the nonexistence of t’samma, however, the old man again strongly urged his plan, and now claimed that there was a deep pit at Aar Pan, where water had never failed in his day, and that there would be no danger in trekking on. However, it would mean at least two hard days’ trek to reach it with the waggons, and should there be no water we should scarcely get the oxen out alive, for though these Kalahari cattle can go that time (four days) without great inconvenience when simply ranging the veldt, it is quite another matter when they are hauling heavy waggons through deep sand and over veritable mountains of sand-dunes. Were the water there, however, it would make matters easy for us, so to make sure we decided to send Du Toit in with a native on horseback to find out how the land lay.