Down the rough road they lumbered, and through the village, where the few women and children stared at them in a frightened way.  Then they came to the causeway, which, on its further side, was blocked with thorns and rough stones taken from the ruins.  While they waited for these to be removed by some men who now appeared, Benita looked at the massive, circular wall still thirty or forty feet in height, by perhaps twenty through its base, built of granite blocks without mortar, and ornamented with quaint patterns of other coloured stones.  In its thickness she could see grooves, where evidently had once been portcullises, but these had disappeared long ago.

“It is a wonderful place,” she said to her father.  “I am glad that I came.  Have you been all over it?”

“No; only between the first and second walls, and once between the second and third.  The old temple, or whatever it is, is on the top, and into that they would never admit us.  It is there that the treasure lies.”

“That the treasure is supposed to lie,” she answered with a smile.  “But, Father, what guarantee have you that they will do so now?  Perhaps they will take the guns and show us the door—­or rather the gate.”

“Your daughter is right, there is none; and before a box is taken off the waggon we must get one,” said Meyer.  “Oh!  I know it is risky, and it would have been better to make sure first, but it is too late to talk of that now.  Look, the stones are cleared.  Trek on—­trek!”

The long waggon-whip cracked, the poor, tired-out oxen strained at the yokes, and on they went through the entrance of that fateful fortress that was but just wide enough to admit them.  Inside lay a great open space, which, as they could see from the numerous ruins, had once been filled with buildings that now were half hidden by grass, trees, and creepers.  This was the outer ring of the temple where, in ancient days, the priests and captains had their home.  Travelling across it for perhaps a hundred and fifty yards, they came near the second wall, which was like the first, only not quite so solid, and saw that on a stretch of beaten ground, and seated in the shadow, for the day was hot, the people of Bambatse were gathered to greet them.

When within fifty yards they dismounted from the horses, which were left with the waggon in the charge of the Makalanga, Tamala.  Then Benita taking her position between her father and Jacob Meyer, they advanced towards the ring of natives, of whom there may have been two hundred—­all of them adult men.

As they came, except one figure who remained seated with his back against the wall, the human circle stood up as a token of respect, and Benita saw that they were of the same stamp as the messengers—­tall and good-looking, with melancholy eyes and a cowed expression, wearing the appearance of people who from day to day live in dread of slavery and death.  Opposite to them was a break in the circle, through which Tamas led them, and as they crossed it Benita felt that all those people were staring at her with their sad eyes.  A few paces from where the man crouched against the wall, his head hidden by a beautifully worked blanket that was thrown over it, were placed three well-carved stools.  Upon these, at a motion from Tamas, they sat themselves down, and, as it was not dignified for them to speak first, remained silent.