To this Stokes vouchsafed no reply. He stroked his thick, wiry beard,
looking unutterable contempt.

They resumed their way, sometimes making a considerable _detour_ to
avoid suspicious neighbourhood. Once the barking of dogs, alarmingly
near, caused a thrill of anxious excitement. Had the tramp of their
horse-hoofs been heard? they wondered, as they swerved off as
noiselessly as possible. At last, what looked like a building loomed in
front of them. Just behind it were three or four native huts.

"I thought so," exclaimed Stokes. "Blamed if this isn't old Shelbury's
store. We've come a _leetle_ more out of our road than we need have
done, Sandgate."

"We'll make it up. I say, hadn't we better off-saddle and have some
grub?" suggested Dick Selmes, cheerfully.

Stokes looked at him sourly.

"Grub!" he echoed. "You'll get none o' that here. Any fool could see
that Shelbury's cleared. Why, the place is all stove in and the whole
show looted."

Closer investigation proved such to be the case. The door hung on one
hinge, and seemed very much battered.

"We'll push on," said Sandgate, with an anxious glance at the moon, now
getting low. "The further we do that under cover of night the better."

But Stokes, rapping out something about just taking half a squint
inside, and catching them up again in a jiffy, was already off his
horse. The other two, resuming their conversation about old times and
scenes at home, held on the way he had pointed out to them. So taken up
were they that it was quite a little while before it occurred to them
that it might be advisable to pull up and wait for Stokes. Nor had they
long to wait.

"Just as I thought," he said, coming up. "The whole shoot has been
cleared from top to bottom. You never saw such a mess in your life.
But there's no one dead inside."

As they rode on, neither Sandgate nor Dick noticed that Stokes kept
rather behind. The moon, too, had almost sunk, wherefore, perhaps, they
further failed to notice that his tan-cord uniform jacket bulged.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE ORDEAL.

It was just the dark hour before dawn when Sandgate called a halt.

"We might safely do half an hour's snooze here," he said. "The gees
want that amount of rest. You turn in, Selmes, and I'll do horse-guard.
No--no--don't wrangle, man; each minute of that means so much less
hard-earned snooze; besides, I'm in command here. Stokes, you look done
too. Well, off you g