A SECRET OF THE ORANGE RIVER. 169 



strong a hold upon him. I dosed him with quinine, 

 and pulled him together till we got to Shoshong, 

 where I wanted him to rest ; but he seemed restless 

 and anxious to get out into the open veldt again, and 

 after a few days we started away. Before we had 

 got half-way down to Griqualand, Mowbray grew 

 suddenly worse, and died one evening in my waggon 

 just at sunset. We buried him under a kameel 

 doom tree, covering the grave with heavy stones, 

 and fencing it strongly with thorns to keep away 

 the jackals and hyenas. 



" Many and many a talk I had with poor Mowbray 

 before he died ; sometimes he would brighten up 

 wonderfully, and insist on talking to me for hours, 

 as he lay, well wrapped up, in the evening, 

 underneath my waggon sail. One evening, in 

 particular, he had seemed so much stronger and 

 better — and in the evening, as we sat before the 

 camp fire on the dewless ground, where I had 

 propped him up and made him comfortable, he 

 told me a most strange story, a story so wonderful 

 that most people would scout and laugh at it 

 as wildly improbable ; yet, remembering well the 

 narrator and the circumstances under which he 

 told it to me, with the shadow of death creeping 

 over the short remaining vista of his life, I believe 

 most firmly his story to be true as gospel. 



" Poor chap ! he began in this way : " Felton, 

 you have been a thundering kind friend to me, 

 kind and tender as any woman (which, by the 

 way, was all nonsense), and I feel I owe you 

 more than I am ever likely to repay ; yet, if you 

 want wealth, I believe I can put it in your way. 

 Do you know the northern bank of the Orange 



