“The white chiefs saw the fallen house at Sofala. In the mountains at Gorongoza are caves; the traders of the Zambesi built the house, the worshippers of the white man’s God lived at Gorongoza. There are no other remains of them.”
“And the stone tablets on the mountain?” eagerly asked the missionary.
The lips of the savage parted, showing the sharp filed teeth. “They are the graves of those who served the white man’s god.”
“And no other ruined huts are here?”
“None. Let the white chiefs hunt with my warriors, they are welcome; the elephant and the rhinoceros are in plenty. The Zambesi is not far distant, when they are tired of the hunt.”
The missionary was terribly disappointed, for the chief’s face bore on it a look of truthfulness. There was no reason for doubting him, and he did not do so.
“Umhleswa would see the chiefs hunt himself. Cattle were carried away from his kraal last night. The robbers were three in number, and are panthers. My scouts are out on the spoor: will the white men join my braves this day?”
“Willingly,” replied the missionary, who at once explained what had passed to the soldier. Tired of a week’s inactivity, the latter was enchanted at the chance. The rifles and ammunition were soon ready. One of the scouts came in with his report that the spoor had been followed into a neighbouring wood, and that the three panthers had not left it. The party consisted of the Europeans and the Matabele chief, together with Umhleswa and about thirty of his tribe. The men were armed with spears, some carrying bows and arrows, the chief alone having an old Spanish long-barrelled fowling piece, damascened with gold.
About four miles of plain lay stretched between the Amatonga village and the forest line, and it was to this the whole troop of noisy savages, headed by their chief and the two white men, took their way in a body. The forest-land, broken at intervals by patches of plain watered by a small stream, stretched away to the mountains, and once it was reached, Umhleswa made his arrangements. All the men armed with assegais were told off as beaters, and advancing in a long line they carried the bush before them. The rest, armed with bows and arrows, were stationed in small groups at the further extremity of the thick cover. Several patches of bush had thus been beaten out, and no game was found.
“What immense numbers of parrots these woods contain,” said Hughes.