three Makalanga, he who was named Hoba, had gone on to announce
their approach.

They had outspanned amongst ruins, most of them circular in shape, and
Benita, studying them in the bright moonlight, guessed that once these
had been houses. That place now so solitary, hundreds or thousands of
years ago was undoubtedly the home of a great population. Thousands,
rather than hundreds, she thought, since close at hand in the middle
of one of these round houses, grew a mighty baobab tree, that could not
have seen less than ten or fifteen centuries since the seed whence it
sprang pierced the cement floor which was still visible about its giant
bole.

Tamas, the Molimo's son, saw her studying these evidences of antiquity,
and, approaching, saluted her.

"Lady," he said in his own language, which by now she spoke very well,
"lady"--and he waved his hand with a fine gesture--"behold the city of
my people."

"How do you know that it was their city?" she asked.

"I do not know, lady. Stones cannot speak, the spirits are silent, and
we have forgotten. Still, I think so, and our fathers have told us that
but six or eight generations ago many folk lived here, though it was not
they who built these walls. Even fifty years ago there were many, but
now the Matabele have killed them, and we are few; to-morrow you will
see how few. Come here and look," and he led her through the entrance
of a square cattle kraal which stood close by. Within were tufts of
rank grass, and a few bushes, and among these scores of skulls and other
bones.

"The Matabele killed these in the time of Moselikatse," he said. "Now
do you wonder that we who remain fear the Matabele, and desire guns to
defend ourselves from them, even if we must sell our secrets, in order
to buy those guns, who have no money to pay for them?"

"No," she answered, looking at the tall, dignified man, into whose soul
the irons of fear and slavery had burnt so deep. "No, I do not wonder."

Next morning at daybreak they trekked on, always through these evidences
of dead, forgotten people. They had not more than ten miles to cover to
reach their long journey's end, but the road, if so it could be called,
ran up-hill, and the oxen, whereof only fourteen were now left to drag
the heavy-laden waggon, were thin and footsore, so that their progress
was very slow. Indeed, it was past midday when at length they began to
enter what by apology might be called the town of Bambatse.

"When we