stay at Bulawayo, had gone northward across the Guai river into
what was in those days a practically unknown land. In a little over a
year's time Bridges had returned alone--his companion having been, so he
stated, killed by the Matabele, and for six months or so he led a
dissolute life in Bulawayo and the district, which ended ultimately in
his execution for murder. There was no doubt whatever about the murder,
or the various thefts and forgeries that he was accused of, as he had
made a confession at his trial, and we seemed to be on a wild-goose
chase of the worst variety so far as I could see; but Jack, confident of
his father's innocence, would not hear of failure.

"It's impossible to make surmises at this stage," he said. "On the face
of it there appears to be little room for doubt, but no one who knew my
father could possibly connect him with any sort of crime. Somehow or
other, Jim, I've got to clear his name."

My memory went back to a tall, sunburnt man with a kindly manner who had
come down to the school one day and put up a glorious feed at the tuck
shop to Jack and his friends. Afterwards, at his son's urgent request,
he had bared his chest to show us his tattooing of which Jack had,
boy-like, often boasted to us. I recalled how we had gazed admiringly at
the skilfully worked picture of Nelson with his empty sleeve and closed
eye and the inscription underneath: "England expects that every man this
day will do his duty." Jack had explained with considerable pride that
this did not constitute all, as on his father's back was a wonderful
representation of the _Victory_, and on other parts of his body a lion,
a snake, and other _fauna_, but Richard Bridges had protested laughingly
and refused to undress further for our delectation.

We reached Bulawayo, but no one in the city appeared to recall the case
at all; indeed, Bulawayo had grown out of all recognition since Richard
Bridges had passed through it on his prospecting trip. It was difficult
to know where to start. Even the police could not help, and had no
knowledge of where the murderer had been buried. No one but an old
saloon-keeper and a couple of miners could recollect the execution even,
and they, so far as they could remember, had never met Richard Bridges
in the flesh, though his unsavoury reputation was well known to them.

In despair, Jack suggested a trek up country towards Barotseland, which
was the district that Bridges and Symes had propose