“We have heard a tale of a yellow rock that lies beyond the mountain, and we would see whether the tale is true.”
“Soh! I have heard that tale from the people we have left. They have talked much about it, and of a strange man who knows of it. Many, they say, have set out to find that rock, but never one came back.”
“Then it is there?” said Hume.
“Oh, ay; yet if it has not been found it may not exist. A tale grows easily out of nothing, and lives long on the tongues of old men. This rock has been polished by the gossips till it shines like a flame, but the man who set the tale going may have seen only the sun striking on a girl’s armlet.”
“Well, we will search for it, and with your aid.”
The chief took a pinch of snuff, as could be judged from the loud sniff. “We must cover up the spoor. Let your friend come with me so that we may lay a new spoor away from this, and do you keep on the river.”
This was done. Webster remained with Sirayo, while the others went on slowly and with many pauses till they heard the river flowing, when they waited for the dawn, wrapping themselves up in their blankets to keep off the night chill. At dawn they continued their flight for several miles along the bank of the river until they reached a place where the bed narrowed between granite banks, where a halt was cried and they waited for the other two, who came up close on noon, having smothered the trail and laid a false track up stream. Preparations were made to cross, for it was feared the Zulus might lay dogs upon the spoor, and Webster, in a marvellously short time, made a small raft out of driftwood. It was large enough to hold Laura, the rifles and goods, and the men, stripped to the waist, swam at the sides, splashing vigorously to frighten the crocodiles. Without accident they reached the further shore, landing amid a confused mass of boulders, over which they struggled to the shelter of the woods. As before, Webster and the chief remained behind, this time to watch if the enemy discovered their crossing, while the others pushed on wearily down wide game tracks into a patch of forest trees, where they rested, at last, under a wild fig-tree, whose light-coloured branches stretched wide and high. Here, with the driest of wood, a fire was made, and carefully nursed so that it should not give forth thick smoke; a tin hold-all was produced from one of the bundles, the kettle set to boil, the blankets spread on the branches, and a small leafy shelter made for Laura. This work occupied them until they were joined by the others, who reported that they had heard only the distant shouts of the Zulus, but had seen no one.
“They are content,” said Sirayo; “they have got what they wanted—your waggon, your oxen, your goods, and if they have lost a few men there are less to share the spoil.”
“But the white men who were with them will not give up the pursuit so readily.”
“Oh, ay; the white man’s hate, like his bullet, reaches far, and strikes when you are out of sight and have forgotten, but those were not of your race; they are yellow men from the coast, and maybe they, too, are in search of the flaming stone.”