THE DRIFT OF THE LETABA The dusk was gathering fast as we neared the stream.

From the stagnant reaches above and below a fine white mist was rising, but the long shallows of the ford were clear.

My heart was beginning to flutter wildly, but I kept a tight grip on myself and prayed for patience.

As I stared into the evening my hopes sank.

I had expected, foolishly enough, to see on the far bank some sign of my friends, but the tall bush was dead and silent.
The drift slants across the river at an acute angle, roughly S.S.W.