WE reached the Crocodile River drift on a Sunday 

 morning, after a particularly dry and dusty night trek. 

 ' Wanting a wash ' did not on such occasions mean 

 a mild inclination for a luxury : it meant that washing 

 was badly needed. The dust lay inches deep on the 

 one worn veld road, and the long strings of oxen toil- 

 ing along kicked up suffocating clouds of fine dust 

 which there was seldom any breeze to carry off : it 

 powdered white man and black to an equal level of 

 yellowy red. The waggons were a couple of hun- 

 dred yards from the river ; and, taking a complete 

 change, I went off for a real clean up. 



We generally managed to get in a couple of bathes 

 at the rivers real swims but that was only done in 

 the regular drifts and when there were people about or 

 waggons crossing. In such conditions crocodiles rarely 

 appeared ; they prefer solitude and silence. The 

 swims were very delightful but somewhat different 

 from ordinary bathes ; however remote may have been 

 the risk of meeting a crocodile when you dived, or of 

 being grabbed by one as you swam, the idea was always 

 there and made it more interesting. 



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