find water, food, and rest. I mounted again, shouted, cracked my
sjambok--blows he could no longer feel--flourished my arms, jerked my
body up and down in the saddle, and finally got him into a walk--but
such a walk! slow, mechanical, every step an effort.

When we finally reached the farmhouse I sprang down and quickly threw
the saddle off. No sooner did the faithful animal feel itself released
from its service than it sank to the ground, utterly exhausted. I myself
was not much better off, after my exertions in the blazing sun. If you
are fond of horses, never try to repeat my experiment. Straining the
last ounce out of your mount is too much like mule-driving, and that is
the most soul-killing occupation on earth, as any Afrikander can
testify.

The cart was waiting for me here. We bade adieu to the sick man, and
drove on. Towards sunset we overtook a man struggling along on foot,
carrying a heavy saddle on his head. He signalled to us to stop, and
came panting up to the side of the cart.

"My horse died this morning," he said, "and I've been carrying this
saddle all day. Can't you load it up for me as far as Lindley?"

The man looked so thoroughly done up that I felt sorry for him.
Besides, I wanted to stretch my legs a bit, so I said that he could take
my seat, and I started off on foot while they were strapping fast the
saddle. The exercise was so agreeable in the fresh evening air that I
continued it, and kept ahead of the cart until we reached Lindley. We
went to the hotel, had a good dinner, and then to bed.