CHAPTER VI 



HOMEWARD BOUND — FACES AROUND THE FIRE — THE 



BUSHMEN PIET NOONA AND THE SNAKE — THE LOVE 



OF THE DESERT — MY PREHISTORIC UNCLE AND AUNT 

 — SCRUPLES — THE HUNTER'S INSTINCT. 



THE ocean-plain to the south of Typhon 

 and the camp we had broken up, is pro- 

 bably the loneliest among the less fre- 

 quented parts of Bushmanland. No Trek 

 Boer ever ventures there with his stock; the 

 hunter pauses on its undefined margin — well 

 knowing that should he pursue the disappear- 

 ing herd of oryx much farther, he and his horse 

 would inevitably perish of thirst. For even on 

 the rare occasions when rain falls on this tract 

 no water is conserved on its surface. Those 

 sand-choked, saucer-shaped depressions of 

 the exposed bedrock found in other parts of 

 the desert, in which rain-water sometimes 

 lodges, do not there exist. 



The only people who ever visited the area 

 in which we sojourned were half-breed hun- 

 ters. These had developed abnormal thirst- 

 resisting powers. They usually occupied a 



