For the first time since their arrival among the Amatongas the white men were left to their own device. The confusion was very great, and all assembled round their unconscious chief. A litter was constructed, and they started for the kraal, the whole party of savages accompanying it.
The two Europeans, having once more loaded their rifles, stood watching the retiring and discomfited savages.
“We ought to have that second tiger, Wyzinski; you fired too low,” at last observed Hughes.
“I suppose I did, confused doubtless by the three leaping animals. I am sorry for it. Umhleswa missed his, and it is humiliating that I only wounded mine.”
“Well, what say you, shall we follow the spoor; it will lead us to yonder mountains, where we shall in all probability find the wounded panther?”
“What if we were to follow the young one?”
“No, it would lead us into the forest, and besides it is unwounded. The Amatonga chief missed, and his braves ran away; let us bring in the female; and besides that, now that the hope of finding your cherished ruins has vanished, we have nothing to do but look for sport. The more reason we should not lose this chance.”
The missionary stood leaning on his rifle, and he slowly shook his head as he answered—
“My faith in the existence of those ruins is unshaken; but there was a look of truth in the face of the savage when he assured us none such existed here. Well, we will go to Manica, and perhaps Machin, who is represented as a powerful chief, may throw some light on that.”
“Ay, but how will you get over the sacred nature of the ruins if they do exist?”