At length, when I had given up hope, and was wondering whether I could ever crawl to the water about half a mile away, or whether I could live two or three days where I was till they began to look for me, I suddenly saw an angel in the shape of a “Bushman,” the little black urchin of a _voorlooper_, who came creeping through the rocks as though stalking me. I found afterwards that, hearing the shot, he had left the waggon and cleared to a high ridge to see what game I had got, and from it had seen me lying among the rocks a long distance away. Even then he simply thought I was “creeping” a buck, and it was only when he had waited a long time that he came along to see what I was about. However, there he was, and never was angel more welcome. We had no brandy, but Nicol, my driver, soon made me some tea, and after washing me and making me as comfortable as possible amongst the rocks, he rode off on the innocent cause of all the trouble to see if any help could be obtained at Nakob. The night was bitterly cold, and in spite of my blankets I was about frozen by the time he returned at midnight with a young trooper named Human. Unfortunately, they had no bandages or first-aid appliances, and could do little, but as my breathing was terribly bad and I was in great pain, the young trooper galloped off again with the promise that he would ride into Ukamas, in German territory, and try to get the doctor. For on our own side of the border there was no medical man nearer than Upington, and to send a wire there one had in any case to cross the border to Ukamas. As it happened, there was no doctor at the little German post when Human got there, and he wired to Upington, where my old pal and fellow-adventurer Dr. Borcherds started out to look for me immediately, and by commandeering cars, laying violent hands on Cape carts and other vehicles, eventually got to me, in a Scotch cart drawn by six bullocks and driven by himself, after forty-eight hours of almost incessant trekking. So, after being within a few hours’ distance of my mine, I had to be taken back to Upington by slow degrees, for practically all one side of me was badly smashed, and I was extremely lucky to have escaped with my life. Cooped up in a chair and swathed like a mummy, I made extremely slow progress in Upington, and feeling that I should never get better unless I got once more on the veldt, I at length cajoled the doctor into letting me start again, though I was still bandaged, and so weak I had to be lifted into the waggon and propped up in a chair. With me came my old fellow-voyager of the Bak River, Mr. Ford-Smith, anxious to try still another new gun, and to add to the store of hunting yarns for which he was already famed. CHAPTER XX--AND LAST WAR!--VIOLATION OF BRITISH TERRITORY AT NAKOB--THE END.