h the Yellow-wood Swamp. Can't we take the
other road to Pilgrim's Rest and Lydenburg, or to Barberton?"
asked Anscombe in a vague way, and as I thought, rather
nervously.

"No," I answered, "that is unless you wish to meet those Basutos
who stole the oxen and Dr. Rodd returning, if he means to
return."

"Oh! let us go through the Yellow-wood," exclaimed Heda, who, I
think, would rather have met the devil than Dr. Rodd.

Ah! if I had but known that we were heading straight for that
person, sooner would I have faced the Basutos twice over. But I
did what seemed wisest, thinking that he would be sure to return
with another doctor or a magistrate by the shorter and easier
path which he had followed in the morning. It just shows once
more how useless are all our care and foresight, or how strong is
Fate, have it which way you will.

So we started down the slope, and I, riding behind, noted poor
Heda staring at the marble house, which grew ever more beautiful
as it receded and the roughness of its building disappeared,
especially at that part of it which hid the body of her old scamp
of a father whom still she loved. We came down to the glen and
once more saw the bones of the blue wildebeeste that we had
shot--oh! years and years ago, or so it seemed. Then we struck
out for the Granite Stream.

Before we reached the patch of Yellow-wood forest where I knew
that the cart must travel very slowly because of the trees and
the swampy nature of the ground, I pushed on ahead to
reconnoitre, fearing lest there might be Basutos hidden in this
cover. Riding straight through it I went as far as the deserted
wagon at a sharp canter, seeing nothing and no one. Once indeed,
towards the end of the wood where it was more dense, I thought
that I heard a man cough and peered about me through the gloom,
for here the rays of the sun, which was getting low in the
heavens, scarcely penetrated. As I could perceive no one I came
to the conclusion that I must have been deceived by my fancy. Or
perhaps it was some baboon that coughed, though it was strange
that a baboon should have come to such a low-lying spot where
there was nothing for it to eat.

The place was eerie, so much so that I bethought me of tales of
the ghosts whereby it was supposed to be haunted. Also, oddly
enough, of Anscombe's presentiment which he had fulfilled by
killing a Basuto. Look! There lay his grinning skull with some
patches of hair still on it, drag