in the sunlight; but from these no reek of blue smoke mounted to
the heavens. Of cattle, either, was there no sign, nor indeed of human
occupancy. The land seemed deserted--dead. What did it mean? Turning
back, Moseley called to the boy to find out what he thought about it.

Mafuta came trotting up. Where were all the cattle? There were no
cattle. They were all dead of the disease. Where were all the people?
They had moved to other parts of the country, or possibly some were
still lying asleep as there were no cattle to tend. He, Mafuta, did not
know. This was not his part. He came from a kraal a long way off--away
beyond the Gwai.

This Mafuta was a young Matabele, who had served in the Ingubo regiment
when Lo Bengula was king, and had entered the white man's service to
earn money in order to buy a wife. He was an intelligent and
warrior-looking youth, but with an expression of countenance as of one
who had gazed on--perhaps taken part in--scenes of cruelty and
bloodshed, and would not in the least object to doing so again. He was
carrying Tarrant's Martini rifle and cartridge-belt, and looked
thoroughly at home with them, as in fact he was, for his masters would
often send him out to shoot game for camp consumption, when the heat
disinclined them for needless activity. Moseley had a shot-gun, which
he preferred to carry himself.

Now, however, they were not on sport intent, but held steadily on their
way; and, after about two hours' riding, a thread of blue smoke
appeared. A little further and they made out a homestead, standing on a
slope beyond the high precipitous banks of a dry river.

"It'll be something to get our heels under a table again," remarked
Tarrant, as they urged their horses up the steep path of the drift.
"Eating your `skoff' in a sort of tied-in-a-knot attitude, with your
plate tobogganing away from you on the very slightest provocation, may
be romantic enough on paper, but it's a beastly bore in actual practice.
Is that Hollingworth?"

"Yes."

A tall man was advancing towards them from the house. He wore a large
beard, and his attire was the same as theirs--a silk shirt, and
riding-trousers tucked into long boots, leather belt, and broad-brimmed
hat.

"Hallo, Moseley!" he sung out. "Back again, eh? What's the news?"

"Oh, rinderpest--always rinderpest. Here, I say, d'you know Tarrant?
No? Well, here he is. Not a bad chap at bottom, but you've got to keep
him at it."