mine-tinted nigger in Matabeleland.

It was late in the afternoon when the mounted force arrived at
Hollingworth's farm. There was a silence about the place, an absence of
life that struck upon them at once.

"I expect they've cleared," said Moseley. "In fact, they must have, or
we'd have heard the kids' voices in some shape or form."

"Let's hope so," replied the Police captain. Then a startled gasp
escaped him. For exactly what had attracted Nidia's glance on her
return attracted his--the broad trail in the dust and the blood-patches,
now dry and black.

With sinking hearts they dismounted at the door, and Overton knocked.
No answer.

Somehow several of the faces of those who stood looking at each other
had gone white. A moment of silence, then, turning the handle, the
Police captain entered. He was followed by Moseley and Tarrant.

Almost instinctively they made a movement as though to back out again,
then with set faces advanced into the room. Those horrible remains--
battered, mutilated--told their own tale. They were too late--too late
by twenty-four hours.

Then Tarrant's behaviour astonished the other two. Pushing past them he
entered the other rooms, casting quick searching glances into every
corner or recess. When he returned there was a look almost of relief
upon his face.

"Miss Commerell is not here," he said.

"Miss who?" asked Overton, quickly.

"Miss Commerell. A visitor. Moseley, can she have escaped?"

"I hope to Heaven she has," was the reply. "Wait. We haven't examined
the huts or the stable."

Quickly they went round to the back, and with sinking hearts began their
search. In one of the huts the body of poor little Jimmie came to
light; then the lock of the store-hut was battered off--the stable--
everywhere. Still, no trace of the missing girl.

"She may have escaped into the bush," suggested Tarrant, whose
suppressed excitement, even at that moment, did not escape the others.
"Quick, Overton! Send some of your men to scour it in every direction."

"Not so fast," said the Police captain. "Things can't be done that way.
We must go to work systematically."

He called up two of his men who were born colonists and versed in the
mysteries of spoor. They, however, did not look hopeful. The ground
around the homestead was so tramped and withal so dry, it would be
difficult to do anything in that line. But they immediately set to
work.

Meanwhile Overton, with the