t.

"Why, Hilary, you splendid old chap, what have you done?" he cried,
fairly dancing with delight. "Why didn't you take me with you though--"

"Oh go away, Percy. You are such a silly young ass," was the very
ill-humoured reception wherewith his transports were greeted by his
kinsman.

The fight was over now and the enemy in retreat. Yet not routed, for he
still hung about at a safe distance, in sufficient force to make things
warm for any pursuing troop who should venture after him into the
thicker bush, until a few deftly planted shells taught him that he had
not yet achieved a safe distance. Then he drew off altogether.

CHAPTER THREE.

A FLAMING THRONE.

"Too late, boys, I guess the Southern Column got there first." And the
utterer of this remark lowered his field glasses and turned to the
remainder of the little band of scouts with an air of profound
conviction.

Away in the distance dense columns of smoke were rising heavenward. For
some time this group of men had been eagerly intent upon watching the
phenomenon through their glasses, and there was reason for their
eagerness, for they were looking upon the goal of the expedition, and
what should practically represent the close of the campaign--Bulawayo to
wit, but--Bulawayo in flames. Who had fired it?

Considerable disappointment was felt and expressed. Their prompt march,
their hard and victorious fighting had not brought them first to the
goal. The Southern Column had distanced them and was there already.
Such was the conclusion arrived at on all sides.

One man, however, had let go no opinion. Lying full length, his field
glass adjusted upon a convenient rock, he had been steadily scanning the
burning kraal in the distance during all the foregoing discussion,
ignoring the latter as though he were alone on the ground. Now he
spoke.

"There's no Southern Column thereat all. No sign or trace of a camp."

This dictum was received with dissent, even with a little derision.

"Who's set it on fire then, Blachland?" said one of the exponents of the
latter phase, with a wink at the others. "You're not going to tell us
that Lo Bengula's set his own shop alight?"

"That's about what's occurred," was the tranquil reply. "At least I
think so."

"It's more'n likely Blachland's right, boys," said one of the scouts,
speaking with a pronounced American accent. "He's been there anyway."

With renewed eagerness every glass was once more br