Deprived of the two best mules in the teams, and having a third partially disabled, the travellers did not get so quickly over the ground as they had hitherto done, and it was some time after dusk before they arrived at Ryk's Drift. Here they were entertained by the German missionary, and on the following morning they started on the final stage but one of their journey. Soon after leaving Ryk's Drift the travellers came in sight of a range of mountains, whose varied outline struck out into bold, precipitous spurs, or shot up into craggy peaks, the summits of which shone in the African sunshine almost like snow. "On the far side of yonder hills lies Ralfontein," said the Major, "and crossing them will prove the toughest job of the whole journey." "That I can believe," rejoined his friend. "My admiration is now changed to consternation! How ever will our mules contrive to drag the carts up such precipices?" "As I said before, it will prove a very tough job," Major Flinders answered; "but `where there's a will there's a way.'" "I shall believe that when I _see_ the way," laughed Mr Weston. "At present I must confess that I am sceptical, for in all my varied experience I have never come across a quadruped that could fly! However, it is not for me to give my opinion; I am but a fish out of water!" Towards noon the travellers commenced the ascent, and right toilsome it proved. The way--for road, or even track, it certainly could not be called--was rugged in the extreme, and full of rocks and gullies, with here and there a narrow chasm over which the carts were dragged with the greatest risk and difficulty. Every one dismounted and lent a helping hand; the Major and his servants managing the teams, with much cracking of whips, and loud shouts of warning or encouragement; whilst Mr Weston and the boys, literally "put their shoulders to the wheel." "Oh, for the turnpike roads of old England!" sang, or rather gasped, Mr Weston, when for about the twentieth time they halted to allow the distressed mules to recover themselves a little. "This is desperate work! eh, boys?" "Slightly warm," said Tom, mopping his perspiring face. "It takes the superfluous flesh off one's ribs." "Shure, Misther Weston, we're nearly at the top," said Patrick Keown encouragingly, "and thin you know, sorr, we'll go down the other side noice and aisy." "A little too `aisy,' perchance," muttered Weston. "Facilis descensus!"