60 TALES OF A NOMAD. 



He was on an island of sand and rocks about midway 

 across the river. By careful wading amongst rocks, I 

 saw that I could get within about forty yards of him ; 

 but the river was treacherous. After a short consulta- 

 tion, we agreed to try. Moyen went first, assegai in 

 hand, both to probe the depth of the water, and also to 

 be ready to repel the assaults of crocodiles. I handed 

 my rifle to a Caffre, and taking a pole in one hand and 

 an assegai in the other waded after Moyen. In some 

 places where the water rushed between rocks it nearly 

 carried us off our legs. The stones were also slippery, 

 and twice I went a cropper, getting wet through, but 

 each time was pulled upon my legs again by a Caffre. 

 Anything more infernal than stalking in a swift and 

 rocky stream can hardly be imagined. 



There was a big boulder which it was my intention to 

 reach if I could. I also took care to keep it as much 

 as possible between ourselves and the sea-bull. We 

 had nearly reached the boulder when we met with an 

 obstruction which nearly spoiled our sport. The channel 

 of water on this side of the boulder was only about eight 

 feet in width, but it was quite four feet in depth, and the 

 water ran so swiftly that I feared I should be carried away. 



Moyen, however, took my pole, and finding a sure 

 footing for it in some crevice in the stones, waded across, 

 propping himself by the pole, and mounted the boulder. 

 He then threw back the pole to me. I managed to fix 

 it amongst the stones and began to cross, but when 

 midway the footing was so slippery that, like the chief 

 of the apostles, I began to be afraid. 



(By the way, this is almost the only thing I resembled 

 him in, unless it was also that we had a mutual taste 

 for fishing.) 



