All the horses they had brought with them had been sold, except some which had died, and three that were “salted,” or proof against the deadly horse sickness, which they took on with them.  Their own servants also had been sent back to Rooi Krantz in charge of a Scotch cart laden with ivory, purchased from Boer hunters who had brought it down from the north of the Transvaal.  Therefore, for this was part of the bargain, the three Makalanga were now their only attendants who drove and herded the cattle, while Benita cooked the food which the two white men shot, or sometimes bought from natives.

For days they had been passing through a country that was practically deserted, and now, having crossed a high nek, the same on which Robert Seymour had left his waggon, they were camped in low land which, as they could see by the remains of walls that appeared everywhere, had once been extensively enclosed and cultivated.  To their right was a rising mountainous ground, beyond which, said the Makalanga, ran the Zambesi, and in front of them, not more than ten miles away, a great isolated hill, none other than that place that they had journeyed so far to reach, Bambatse, round which flowed the great river.  Indeed, thither one of the three Makalanga, he who was named Hoba, had gone on to announce their approach.

They had outspanned amongst ruins, most of them circular in shape, and Benita, studying them in the bright moonlight, guessed that once these had been houses.  That place now so solitary, hundreds or thousands of years ago was undoubtedly the home of a great population.  Thousands, rather than hundreds, she thought, since close at hand in the middle of one of these round houses, grew a mighty baobab tree, that could not have seen less than ten or fifteen centuries since the seed whence it sprang pierced the cement floor which was still visible about its giant bole.

Tamas, the Molimo’s son, saw her studying these evidences of antiquity, and, approaching, saluted her.

“Lady,” he said in his own language, which by now she spoke very well, “lady”—­and he waved his hand with a fine gesture—­“behold the city of my people.”

“How do you know that it was their city?” she asked.

“I do not know, lady.  Stones cannot speak, the spirits are silent, and we have forgotten.  Still, I think so, and our fathers have told us that but six or eight generations ago many folk lived here, though it was not they who built these walls.  Even fifty years ago there were many, but now the Matabele have killed them, and we are few; to-morrow you will see how few.  Come here and look,” and he led her through the entrance of a square cattle kraal which stood close by.  Within were tufts of rank grass, and a few bushes, and among these scores of skulls and other bones.

“The Matabele killed these in the time of Moselikatse,” he said.  “Now do you wonder that we who remain fear the Matabele, and desire guns to defend ourselves from them, even if we must sell our secrets, in order to buy those guns, who have no money to pay for them?”