290 EXPEDITION INTO [Chap. XXXIII. 



broad white noses close to the ground like a pack of 

 harriers in full cry. Never having killed any of 

 these antelopes, and our stock of provisions requir- 

 ing to be recruited, I mounted Breslar, my favourite 

 Rozinante, and never heeding whither I sped, dashed 

 into the thick of them. The pine-apple hill bore 

 east about five miles, and I fancied was a never-fail- 

 ing land-mark to direct my return to the road, which, 

 although faint, could readily be distinguished by a 

 practised eye. Dealing death around, I continued 

 to scour the plain, the herd before me increasing from 

 hundreds to thousands, and reinforcements still pour- 

 ing in from all directions, when crying " Hold, 

 enough !" I stayed my hand from slaughter. Hav- 

 ing divested some of the slain of their brilliant 

 parti-coloured robes, and packed the spolia on my 

 horse, I set out to rejoin the waggons, but ah ! how 

 vainly did I seek for them. Again and again I 

 strained my eyes for the road, and cantered to and 

 fro between the string of frosted salt-pans and the 

 little hill, which, floating in the sea of mirage that 

 environed me, seemed as if poised in the sky. The 

 monotony of the landscape baffled all my attempts 

 at recognition, and my search was utterly fruitless. 

 Every feature of the cone was precisely the same — 

 the table mountains were completely obscured by the 

 vapour — and in the constant recurrence of similar 

 forms, I lost the points of the compass, and at last 

 became totally bewildered. 



To retrace my steps over plains so trampled by 

 innumerable herds was clearly impossible. At one 



