BY EFFORTS STRONG WE REACH SOSHONG. 295 



rocky hill. Along its foot on the north side grow 

 considerable quantities of mealies and Kaffir corn. Soon 

 after we enter a track laid out between fences of 

 withered mimosa and other thorny plants. Gardens of 

 grain increase in number and width. At last one of the 

 inhabitants is seen, then another, till quite a number are 

 around us. They are all women, some nearly naked, all 

 very scantily clothed. They are well-formed, and although 

 not pretty, look good-natured ; and, above all, they are 

 polite, for not one fails to greet the soil-stained travellers 

 with their pretty expression of welcome, "Dumela." 



The sand was very heavy, and the treck was the 

 most severe I had ever experienced. The poor cattle 

 groaned, but could not bellow. Their eyes looked sad 

 and plaintive, while the slow manner in which they 

 lifted their feet told but too truly of the unwonted fatigue 

 they had endured. I was not the freshest man in the 

 world myself, and I felt convinced that I was one of the 

 dirtiest, if the colour of my hands indicated what my 

 face was like. 



At length two or three cottages become visible, 

 then a few Kaffir huts, afterwards more and more, till it 

 becomes apparent that we are approaching a town of 

 large population. 



The end of this portion of the journey is not yet ac- 

 complished, a dry river-bed has to be crossed, and, alas ! 

 in it we stick. For over half an hour we remain in this 

 annoying position; a final effort is made, a number of 

 Bechuanas put their shoulders to the wheels, and in a 

 few minutes we are once more progressing. The next 

 mile and a half is rapidly got over, for the cattle already 

 smell water, and I order the halt close adjoining Mr. 

 Cruikshank's store. The driver threw down his whip, 



