the faces of these
two strong, resourceful, resolute men every vestige of colour had faded.
They had looked upon bloodshed and death before, as we know, had grown
inured to horrible sights; but that of white women and children,
literally cut into pieces, had been reserved for them until now.

"No, you'd better not see it, Ancram," warned Lamont, putting forth a
restraining hand. "There's no necessity for you to. Peters, one of us
must go in there again. The time's important--the time it occurred, you
know. We might find some clue."

Peters nodded, and they entered together. There was a clue. On a
side-table was the beginning of a letter, which looked as if one of the
wretched women had been interrupted while writing. It was spattered
with blood.

"It's dated the day before yesterday," said Lamont; "the day we were
attacked. Good Lord! I wish when we set our trap then we had put
enough stuff to blow every one of those Matabele devils to his own
place, instead of a dozen or so."

"Amen," said Peters.

It never occurred to either of them that their wish had been very nearly
fulfilled.

"Well, we'd better get into Gandela as soon as we can and give the
alarm. They won't laugh this time, unfortunately. After that I, for
one, am going where I can shoot as many of these devils as it is
possible to shoot."

"Same here," said Peters. "No quarter, either."

These two men, you see, were changed now. Far from cruel or merciless
by disposition, they had looked upon a sight which should render them
both, as similar sights did many another in the early days of that
wholly unprepared-for outbreak.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

FULLERTON'S MOVE.

A light mule-waggon stood at Fullerton's door. By the time the process
of loading it--now begun--was completed it would no longer be a light
waggon.

Before that stage was attained, however, Fullerton was making nasty
remarks on the wholly unnecessary quantity of baggage without which
lovely woman professes herself unable to move--at least his spouse
pronounced them to be nasty, and, of course, she ought to know.

"Do stand up for us, Mr Wyndham," she appealed.

"Wouldn't be fair. You're two to one as it is," answered Wyndham,
tugging at a refractory strap, for he was engaged in harnessing the
mules.

"Oh, here--I say, Clare. We haven't got a traction engine to move this
outfit," grumbled Fullerton, as his sister-in-law appeared, together
with another quite exasp