The man could hardly drag one step behind the other. He could hardly drag by the bridle the tottering horse, of which the same held good. His brain was giddy and his eyes wearied with the unvarying vista on every hand, the straight stems of the mopani forest, enclosing him; a still and ghastly wilderness devoid of bird or animal life. He stumbled forward, his lips blue and cracked, his tongue swollen, his throat on fire; and in his mind was blank and utter despair, for he knew that he was in the heart of a waterless tract, extending for about a hundred miles, and for over forty hours no drop of moisture of any sort had passed his lips. Forty hours of wandering in the driest, most thirst-inspiring region in the world! He had made a bad start. There had been festivities at FortPagadithe night before, to celebrate the Jameson Raid and drink the health of its leaders. [download]
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