He wore an old soft felt hat, with a perfectly abject brim, above his
scarlet handkerchief, and every quarter of a mile he would take it off
and put the ostrich feather that adorned one side straight up, and
attempt to pinch the limp brim into shape.
In spite of his cheerful snatches of song, and his encouraging cries,
the poor beasts showed more and more signs of distress, till at last Jan
turned to Mrs. Gilbert and said, "The poor oxen is just done up. We must
outspan till it gets cooler."
"What, outspan in this pitiless place, with not a house, or a tree, or
water to be got at!" cried one of the girls.
"There is a water-hole down there," said Jan, pointing to a dip in the
ground not far off.
"Yes," said Mrs. Gilbert, "I have been down there on horseback."
The wagon was drawn off the road, and the weary oxen let loose, while we
stretched ourselves on the cartels, but found the heat too great to let
us recover any of our lost sleep.
After a time some of us, thinking any change must be for the better,
dragged ourselves out into the glare, and went to look at the pool of
water. But though a few prickly pears and mimosa bushes grew around, it
was not an inviting spot to rest in, and we laboured back across the
scorching ground to the wagon, our only benefit being more thankfulness
for its shelter.
April had gone off to see that the oxen did not wander too far.
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