The night was by no means dark, but even so we stumbled terribly amongst the tufts of _toa_ grass, low salt-bushes, and the numerous meer-cat holes, and by ten o’clock van Reenen, whose feet were bleeding, and who was suffering worse than any of us from thirst, threw himself down and said he would go no farther. He was light-headed and raving for water, and we could do nothing to help him. So, after an anxious discussion, we decided to rest for an hour or two and slept for awhile, dreaming of cool, sparkling water. Du Toit roused me or I might be sleeping there now. My head was throbbing wildly, and my lips, tongue, and throat like the dryest of leather; indeed, it seemed as though every vital organ in me was drying up, and I felt that I should soon go mad. I could make no articulate sound till Du Toit gave me a few leaves of sorrel he had found, and which moistened my tongue somewhat. We had to kick resentment into van Reenen, who lay like a log, and who was in a very bad way. At last he staggered up, and, drawing his hunting-knife, cut his boots off and threw them away. This discarding of clothing is a bad sign with a man suffering from thirst; many a dead man had been found in the dunes, stark naked, his boots and clothing scattered along his staggering trail. But van Reenen had simply done it on account of his bleeding, aching feet, and, in spite of thorns, got on better without them. Thus, painfully and with frequent rests, we toiled on, till about midnight we came to a long _straat_ which led the right way, and which we fondly hoped might have been the path of our outward journey. But a patient search from side to side of it showed no spoor; and now began a heart-breaking period, for we found that a whole series of these _straats_ lay side by side in this direction, all of them unmarked by human footprints. Tortured and anxious, we began to doubt whether we were not out of the track altogether, and whether we had not passed it, and I remember that I at least was for making due west towards the Molopo--a good eighteen hours’ trek for a strong man, and which we should never have reached. But Du Toit persisted: we could not be more than an hour or two from camp, and he would yet find the spoor. Again and again we fired our rifles and listened in vain for an answering shot, again and again we climbed the highest dunes, and gazed into the night for a fire that never shone there; now one, now the other, would fall and lie there till pulled up, but somehow we managed to struggle on a bit farther.