Mouti slept a little, but John did not dare to do so.

All he could do was to swallow a little _biltong_ (dried game flesh) and bread, drink some square-face and water, and then sit down in the cart, his rifle between his knees, and wait for the light.

At last it came, lying on the eastern sky like a promise, and he once more fed the horses.

And now a new difficulty arose.

The animal that would not eat was clearly too weak to pull, so the harness had to be altered, and the three sound animals arranged unicorn fashion, while the sick one was fastened to the rear of the cart.