We spoke to the sick man, who was lying in the shade of a tree. He was quite a youth, and evidently of a better stamp than his companions. "If only I could reach a certain farm about five miles further on," he sighed, "I think I should manage." "Take my seat," said I, "and I'll ride your nag." "I must tell you," he objected, "that the poor beast is quite exhausted. It would take hours to get him there." "Never mind, I'll start now, and you can follow on with the cart when our horses have had a feed." Our business admitted of no retard, so I meant to get a good start in order not to delay my companions. I mounted the nag and shouted "Get up!" He stumbled forward a few steps and stood stock still. I pricked him with the spurs, he moved on a little further and halted again. By dint of spurring, striking, and shouting, he at last broke into a slow trot, wearily dragging his hoofs, but before long he stopped once more. I dismounted and tried to lead him, but he would not budge. Then I tried driving him on ahead, but as soon as I got behind him he turned out of the road, first to the right, then to the left. Of all heart-breaking experiences this was the worst. I could not leave the animal to die by the wayside; the farm was only a few miles further on, where he would find water, food, and rest. I mounted again, shouted, cracked my sjambok--blows he could no longer feel--flourished my arms, jerked my body up and down in the saddle, and finally got him into a walk--but such a walk! slow, mechanical, every step an effort. When we finally reached the farmhouse I sprang down and quickly threw the saddle off. No sooner did the faithful animal feel itself released from its service than it sank to the ground, utterly exhausted. I myself was not much better off, after my exertions in the blazing sun. If you are fond of horses, never try to repeat my experiment. Straining the last ounce out of your mount is too much like mule-driving, and that is the most soul-killing occupation on earth, as any Afrikander can testify. The cart was waiting for me here. We bade adieu to the sick man, and drove on. Towards sunset we overtook a man struggling along on foot, carrying a heavy saddle on his head. He signalled to us to stop, and came panting up to the side of the cart. "My horse died this morning," he said, "and I've been carrying this saddle all day. Can't you load it up for me as far as Lindley?" The man looked so thoroughly done up that I felt sorry for him. Besides, I wanted to stretch my legs a bit, so I said that he could take my seat, and I started off on foot while they were strapping fast the saddle. The exercise was so agreeable in the fresh evening air that I continued it, and kept ahead of the cart until we reached Lindley. We went to the hotel, had a good dinner, and then to bed. LINDLEY TO HEILBRON