“By bribery; depend upon it, nothing succeeds better with the virtuous Amatonga.”
“Well, good-bye to the ruins at present; and whether Solomon knew the land or not, or whether Ophir be here of elsewhere, our object is the skin of the panther.”
Their rifles at the trail, the two hunters moved forward towards the mountains, from which they were separated by several belts of forest, guided by the gouts of blood which the wounded animal had left. These tracks led at first across the open. Here there could be no mistake, for the bowmen had followed the animal for some distance, shouting and firing off their arrows, but the two hunters soon struck into the brush once more, and still guided by the spots of blood, pressed on cautiously but quickly. Hardly a word was spoken as they forced their way onward, the yells and shouts of the Amatongas dying away; and, with the exception of the breaking of the branches, and the sound of running water in the bed of the stream, all was still. After heavy rains this river must be a considerable one, but at that moment it was small, so the hunters followed, so far as was practicable, its course, the wounded panther having done the same. After having proceeded thus some two miles in the brush, sometimes stumbling over the boulders of stone, sometimes with difficulty forcing a pathway among the trees and bushes, the river turned suddenly to the right, and as suddenly the forest ceased.
The missionary halted, and looked about him anxiously.
“What’s the matter?” asked Hughes in a low tone, cocking his rifle as he spoke.
“See,” answered the other, “the stream has been dammed up here, and there are evident traces of masonry. This is strange.”
“We are close to the end of this belt of forest-land, and shall soon solve the mystery, if there be one.”
“There is a considerable sheet of water here, and why should it exist? Can we be near some large kraal?”
Slowly the two moved forward, and as they did so the trees became gradually further apart, the banks of the stream seemed quite clear, even from brushwood. A sharp bend led to the right, and there before them, tumbled here and there among the mighty trees, looking like masses of rock, lay scattered far as the eye could reach, following the bend of the river, fallen masonry.
Both stopped dead in utter astonishment, looking like men at once frightened and bewildered, the missionary’s usually calm and impassive countenance growing one moment deadly, pale, the next flushing a deep crimson. So great was the shock, so totally unexpected the event—for he had perfectly believed in what the Amatonga had said—that the tears stood in his eyes.