We have but to
follow the stream, and we shall be within the walls of Senna in three
hours."

The little tent was struck, the knapsacks strapped on, and their rifles
at the trail, both moved rapidly away. But a deep cut they found ran
between them and the Portuguese fort. It was filled with heavy timber
and luxuriant undergrowth. Night came on, and there was no moon, so
that the direction of the stream was soon lost, and they were brought to
a stand still.

"Let us halt here," said Wyzinski, as they pushed their way through a
clump of mimosa, and gained a small clearing, hemmed in on every side by
the forest.

"We can reach Senna by early morning, and I am half dead with hunger."

A fire was lit, some strips of venison cut from an eland killed the
previous day, roasted on the embers, and they made a hearty meal.

"It will be a relief to me to see the inside of the fort, Hughes," said
Wyzinski. "I misdoubt those Amatongas."

"They have done better by us than your favourite Matabele. I never
thought Masheesh would have left us thus. If you will take the first
turn, I'll have a sleep," replied Hughes.

"Agreed," returned the missionary, as his comrade placing his knapsack
under his head, threw himself under a low bush, and was soon sleeping
heavily. Hours went by, and still the missionary, with his rifle thrown
across his knee, sat by the fire. He rose from time to time to collect
and heap on it the dried branches. Once he heard distinctly above the
noises incidental to an African night in the wilderness, the splintering
of wood. He was in the act of throwing an armful of dry branches on the
blaze. Stooping, he seized his rifle, and was just about to wake his
companion, when the noise ceased. Stepping up to where the soldier lay,
he looked at him. The starlight shone over the bronzed and travel-worn
face. The cap had fallen off, and the long locks of dark hair touched
the ground. "It would be a pity to wake him," muttered the missionary.
"I am not tired; the presentiment of evil is upon me, and I could not
sleep even if I tried."

Turning, he again squatted down by the fire, the cocked rifle over his
knee. Once, more than an hour after, the same sound, like to the
breaking of wood, reached his ear.

"It may be some heavy animal feeding," he thought, "and my fears be
groundless; the darkness of the night, the loneliness and fatigue, have
unnerved me."

Soon his thoughts were away in other lands,