They made Langrishe's Store in fine time, but--where was Langrishe? No answer was returned to their loud, impatient hail. He could not be away, for the door was half open. Some opined that he was probably drunk, but to two there, at any rate, that silence bore an ominous similarity to that which had signalled their approach to another homestead only yesterday morning. The solution was somewhat startling. From the partly open door half a dozen armed savages shot forth, and darted for the nearest bush with inconceivable swiftness. But not one of them was destined to reach it. A perfect howl of rage went up from the spectators, and waiting for no word of command a dozen horsemen were on the heels of the fugitives, who were shot down to a man. It was all over in a moment. "Loosen girths everyone and water the horses while we investigate," ordered Lamont. "No time to off-saddle." It was even as they had dreaded. Lying behind the counter of his store was the body of poor Langrishe, the skull battered in, the clothing riddled with assegai cuts, but the body was still quite warm. Bales and cases, and goods of every description, were piled and heaped about in the last degree of confusion. The murderers had obviously been too busy looting to hear the approach of the party and so secure their own safety in time. The wrath of the latter found vent in bitter curses, and blood-curdling promises of vengeance upon the whole Matabele race. But the ride had been a forced and a hot one, eke a dusty one and a dry. One of the men came forward. "Captain," he said, with a glance at the bar shelves, "some of us are thinking that while the horses are resting a tot all round wouldn't hurt us any. Might buck us up a bit, and it's mortal dry." "Yes; that's right," said Lamont. "But--only one, mind. We mustn't overdo it, for we shall have all our work cut out for us." The said tot having been served out to all hands, and the party having requisitioned some of poor Langrishe's biscuit in case of accidents--for they had set forth none too well provisioned--the body of the unfortunate storekeeper was left locked up within his own house. Girths were tightened, and the road was resumed. The fresh spoor of the mule-waggon and the police horses was plain enough in the dry, powdery road, but the rapidity of their pace underwent no diminution. But, like those they followed, they were disgusted to find Skrine's Store shut up and deserted. Equally, with those they followed, they did not discover the remains of the luckless Skrine and his unknown companions, lying murdered in the bush.