Here the danger seemed greatest. How to get across those great, big, round stones? But even across these he got, foot by foot, inch by inch, making the horses pull the wheels out against the round sides of the rocks, and back it down gently on the other side. Thus he went from rock to rock. Sometimes the wheels jumped from rock to rock, when they were near enough; sometimes the cart seemed on the point of tumbling over into the zee koe gat alongside, when one wheel was on top of a rock and the other down between two others. But the worst of all was the feet of the poor tired horses amongst these great, big, round boulders. Sometimes one or the other would slip down on its knees, only to be picked up gently by the firm hand at the reins; sometimes their feet would stick fast between two rocks, but by moving only one step at a time, and keeping his horses quiet, Steve found himself at last in front of the steep wall on the other side. Now he fully saw how steep it was, and, worst of all, it was heavy sand. Will the poor, tired horses ever manage to get out of this hole? Should the horses lose their footing or give in for a second, when half-way, the cart would drag them down, and all would come down in a broken mass—horses kicking, stones obstructing—and, perhaps, the whole would go down into the zee koe gat, which would mean almost certain death to the man finding himself entangled in this mass. But there is no time for hesitating now. He is in, and must get out. It is nearly quite dark now. After giving the horses a moment to breathe, he let go the reins, shouted to them to go, and lashed them until they flew forward in terror, right against the steep wall. Now they are half-way up—my God! they are slipping in the sand! For a moment they seemed to go down. No! up they go again. They pant and bend, but up they go; and at last, the cart stands on level ground again.
Now only Steve discovers that he is pouring wet; the sweat is simply running from him. He is trembling all over from excitement; his mouth is parched. He steps down, quiets the horses, gets a drink from the water canteen, and wipes the sweat from his eyes and is himself again. He is soon joined by his companions, leading the two other horses. They had been standing looking on as if paralysed. They expected to see the cart sink into ruins every moment, and their admiration was unbounded when they saw him guide the vehicle over obstacle after obstacle, safe and sound. When they came up to him, they generously congratulated him, in unmeasured terms, for his pluck and skill; and, to the end of their trip, when they came to dangerous places (which was often enough), they made him take the reins, to the disgust of his cousin.
Well now, at last they could go to the house they had seen at a distance. It is true it is dark and no road visible, but the light still shone and invited them on; and after such a drift crossed, surely they can find their way across the level plain, even though it be dark. Steve led the way on foot, and soon they found themselves in front of the house they had seen.
But their hopes appeared dashed to the ground again.
‘Seems to me this is a poor show, and it strikes me we will have to camp outside after all.’
They had come to the poorest of poor houses. A low, small mud house. It must be one of the poorest farmers in the district.
The barking of the dogs had brought the inmates out of the house by this time. The following dialogue took place.
‘Good evening, Oom.’ (Steve spoke).
‘Good evening, Neef.’ (Nephew).
‘Who lives here, Oom.’