Poeskop and Guy, who were still together, now set to work to skin the dead antelope. This they accomplished. Then cutting off the head, Poeskop set aside that part of the trophy, which Guy meant to carry himself, intending to skin the skull itself at his leisure after their return to camp. Next the Bushman cut off a quantity of the best part of the flesh, especially from the rump, loins, and brisket, and packing these, with a couple of marrow bones, carefully on the pony he rode, they prepared to set off. It was now two o’clock. Like Tom, they had set off hastily from camp without either food or water, and were already both hungry and thirsty. Guy, in particular, would have given a good deal for a pull at some lime juice and water or cold tea. The Bushman led the way; Guy, carrying the eland head in front of him, balanced on the pommel of his saddle, followed. Poeskop struck for where he believed he would hit off the spoor of the wagon as it trekked forward on its route. But he had not quite reckoned upon the distance they had traversed that morning in pursuit of the elands, and at four o’clock they halted to rest their nags and take reckoning. The whole country seemed to Guy absolutely alike--a vast flat, covered for the most part with bush and thin forest, with here and there a small grass plain to vary the monotony. Far above them, the huge vacancy of the hot, brassy sky loomed unutterably vast. The Bushman looked about him with a puzzled expression. Even he, in this wilderness where every object seemed to be repeated interminably, and not a hill, or swelling of the ground, or any kind of landmark, arose to offer guidance to the traveller, seemed for a few minutes to be at fault. "Hallo, Poeskop!" said Guy wearily. "Have you lost your way? I hope not. I’ve got a thirst on me that I would give a sovereign to quench." "Nie, baas," said the Bushman cheerfully. "We have not lost our way yet. I shall soon show you the wagon spoor." And, in truth, the little wizened fellow was not many seconds at fault. To Guy, as the little man looked this way and that, searched the sky, squinted at the westering sun, and opened his broad nostrils to the faint breeze that was now beginning to move over the parched veldt, it seemed almost as if Poeskop was smelling his way. At all events, his savage instinct quickly reasserted itself. Touching his pony by the heel, he went resolutely forward. For another hour and a half they marched on in silence. The veldt seemed very desolate and very sombre. A few small antelopes fled away from their approach; these were steinbuck and duyker, which exist apparently as readily without water as with it. The sun sank below the skyline, leaving the flaming heavens arrayed in a marvellous glow of radiant colouring; the light quickly faded. "Poeskop," said Guy at last, "we shall have to camp out for the night. It’s a bad job. I don’t know what we shall do without water."