In front of them extended a flat prairie land dotted here and there with mounds and kopjes and devoid of trees, excepting near the banks of the stream, which they could trace as it flowed across the plateau from a far-distant range of mountains. These mountains were so faintly outlined against the sky that they might almost be mistaken for a low-lying bank of clouds. Only their peaks showed them to be land and not vapour.
Not a sign of human life could they perceive, either on the plain or on the banks of the river. No kraals, no huts showed up even, although Ned looked most carefully through his field-glasses.
“Have we discovered a new tract of country, I wonder,” he said, “as yet uninhabited? I see not the slightest signs of cultivation, although it looks as good as Rhodesia or the Transvaal.”
“It appears like it,” answered Fred. “Only I wish we had our horses.”
“Yes, that would be fine, for this seems to be a happy hunting-ground. Look yonder at the peaceful herds of giraffes and zebras. I bet no white man has been here, this generation at least, with his gun,” cried Clarence, who had now quite recovered his spirits.
The Kaffirs leaned on their weapons, and looked round them with glittering eyes. Here, indeed, seemed a country worth trekking to.
“By George! I do verily believe we are the first discoverers. Let us christen it at once. What shall it be?” asked Ned, turning to his companions.
“Jameson Land, if anything,” cried Fred. “He risked his life to rescue us from prison. He deserves this at least from us.”
“So be it. Welcome to Jameson Land, boys; and let yonder range of hills be called the Cecil Mountains and this stream the Rhodes River.”
They pitched their camp where they were for the night, and soon afterwards were busy discussing tea, roasted antelopes, and fresh-made cake, which the Kaffirs baked from the flour they carried.