as we have done, he
turned to the westward, visiting the Bechuanas and Mozelkatse's country;
but see, what on earth can that be?"

The missionary pointed to a kind of cairn on the mountain-side. Beside
it lay six slabs of stone, and that they were the work of the white man
was evident. Cracked, blackened, and defaced, there was no mistake, the
stones were worked into flat slabs, but whose were the hands that
fashioned them?

"There seems to be an inscription," said Wyzinski, as he stooped over
them. "I feel deep marks in the stone, but the earth has given way
beneath them, and creeping plants have grown over them. All these three
are cracked and broken."

"Here are three out of the six in a better state," said Hughes. "We can
cut away the undergrowth."

"If we can get at one only that will be sufficient," said Wyzinski,
eagerly, as the two cut away at the masses of weed with their knives.
"Should there be any inscription, we may gain some knowledge to guide
our future course."

It took a long time and much labour to clear away the undergrowth, and
then but to meet with disappointment.

"The different wandering tribes who have camped here have used the slabs
as fire-places," observed Wyzinski, sighing. "We must have water, and
how can we get it here."

"Oh, easily," replied Hughes, whose experience of Indian life came to
his aid. "With a buffalo hide we can make a bag which will hold water,
and can be carried on a man's back. We call them bheasties in Madras."

"The black grime and the dirt of ages seems encrusted on the slabs of
Gorongoza," remarked the missionary. "I can feel that there is an
inscription, but I can't make it out. The dirt has become like stone,
and will want long softening, before we can scoop it out."

"It seems to me, as far as fingers can tell, that the cuttings are of
European form. This would go against your theory, Wyzinski."

"We will see that to-morrow," was the reply, as rising and shutting
their knives the two took their way down to the plain, speculating
moodily on the probable history of the slabs of Gorongoza.

The night set in wild and stormy, the thunder echoing among the
mountains, and the rain falling in torrents, but when morning dawned,
waking up the wild ducks among the long reeds, and bringing them out on
the clear waters of the Golden River, rousing up the parrots and the
monkeys in the neighbouring groves, and hushing the cries of the jackals
on the plai