You must know that ever since I could stand I have been crazy about high mountains.

My father took me to Basutoland when I was a boy, and I reckon I have scrambled over almost every bit of upland south of the Zambesi, from the Hottentots Holland to the Zoutpansberg, and from the ugly yellow kopjes of Damaraland to the noble cliffs of Mont aux Sources.

One of the things I had looked forward to in coming home was the chance of climbing the Alps.

But now I was among peaks that I fancied were bigger than the Alps, and I could hardly keep my eyes on the road.

I was pretty certain that my _castrol_ was among them, for that dream had taken an almighty hold on my mind.