The Conquest of the Desert 



poison-sac of a puff-adder ! I fear I am still a 

 tenderfoot. I say nothing, but noiselessly hide 

 my cake in a tuft of bushman grass. Out span 

 at Narougas (Onderste) in the trough of a huge 

 sand-dune. A fine calm night. 



Sunday, 12th May. — Started at 6.30 a.m. 

 Stopped at Spannenberg's farm. It is sad to 

 see the commingling of black and white blood 

 in so many parts of this country. Passed 

 Peppler's. Immense dry pan of good soil. Out- 

 span at Saulstraat at 11 a.m. I am sand-sick, 

 and tired. 2.15 p.m. — the last of the Kalahari 

 sand-dunes. Render thanks to a kind Provi- 

 dence. Middle Post and her three Wardens 

 of the Marches — stern, black kopjes. Now a 

 fine hard road. Look ! There are the moun- 

 tains on the German border ! And there a 

 German settler's home ! See that glorious 

 fertile plain. What a chance for dry-farming ! 

 Start to plough it early in the morning, and 

 come back on the return furrow late next day. 

 Cross the Mooi River — dry, but verdant. Then 

 we swing along the hard and gleaming veld to 

 that ribbon of trees green on the nun-grey soil. 

 Sunset and Rietfontein. Purple mountains, 

 lights and shadows, and " Good-night " to the 

 Great Thirst Land. I lie down in the Bastard 



44 



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