140 LODGES IN THE WILDERNESS 



On the forenoon of the fourth day, a day 

 of terrible heat, we sighted the mission build- 

 ings of Pella in the far distance. These stood 

 on a limestone ridge in a crescent-shaped bend 

 of that stark range of mountains on the 

 northern side of which the Orange River has 

 carved its tremendous earth-scar. Here the 

 colour of the mountains changed; they were 

 no longer jet black as I had found those a 

 hundred miles to westward, but a deep choco- 

 late brown. From Pella ran a steep ravine 

 which cleft the range almost to its base. Down 

 this a crooked track led to the river, which 

 was said to be about nine miles away. 



It seemed as though we should never reach 

 the mission ; the trek over red-hot sand through 

 which angular chunks of limestone were 

 thickly distributed, seemed interminable in the 

 fierce heat. But at length the journey ended, 

 and the panting horses were released for their 

 sand-bath, preliminary to a much-needed 

 drink. The half-dozen low houses of the 

 mission, built of unburnt brick and livid grey 

 in colour, lay huddled around the unfinished 

 walls of what was intended to eventually be a 

 church. That bare, sunscourged, glaring ridge 

 which had been selected as the site for the 

 institution lacked every attribute tempting to 



