Mafuta came trotting up. Where were all the cattle? There were no cattle. They were all dead of the disease. Where were all the people? They had moved to other parts of the country, or possibly some were still lying asleep as there were no cattle to tend. He, Mafuta, did not know. This was not his part. He came from a kraal a long way off--away beyond the Gwai. This Mafuta was a young Matabele, who had served in the Ingubo regiment when Lo Bengula was king, and had entered the white man's service to earn money in order to buy a wife. He was an intelligent and warrior-looking youth, but with an expression of countenance as of one who had gazed on--perhaps taken part in--scenes of cruelty and bloodshed, and would not in the least object to doing so again. He was carrying Tarrant's Martini rifle and cartridge-belt, and looked thoroughly at home with them, as in fact he was, for his masters would often send him out to shoot game for camp consumption, when the heat disinclined them for needless activity. Moseley had a shot-gun, which he preferred to carry himself. Now, however, they were not on sport intent, but held steadily on their way; and, after about two hours' riding, a thread of blue smoke appeared. A little further and they made out a homestead, standing on a slope beyond the high precipitous banks of a dry river. "It'll be something to get our heels under a table again," remarked Tarrant, as they urged their horses up the steep path of the drift. "Eating your `skoff' in a sort of tied-in-a-knot attitude, with your plate tobogganing away from you on the very slightest provocation, may be romantic enough on paper, but it's a beastly bore in actual practice. Is that Hollingworth?" "Yes." A tall man was advancing towards them from the house. He wore a large beard, and his attire was the same as theirs--a silk shirt, and riding-trousers tucked into long boots, leather belt, and broad-brimmed hat. "Hallo, Moseley!" he sung out. "Back again, eh? What's the news?" "Oh, rinderpest--always rinderpest. Here, I say, d'you know Tarrant? No? Well, here he is. Not a bad chap at bottom, but you've got to keep him at it." The usual hand-shake followed, and then Hollingworth, farmer-like, began to growl. "Rinderpest? I should think so. Why, I've hardly a hoof left. No fear. I'm going to chuck farming and go prospecting again. But come along in and have a drop of something after your ride. It'll be breakfast-time directly." "Er--could one have a tub--among other things?" said Tarrant. "Tub? Why, of course. Here--this way." And their host piloted them behind the scenes.