She discovered it would. The country was dangerously open, though, and there were cultivated lands she would have to pass. Summoning up all her strength and courage, she stole rapidly along, keeping within the shelter of a line of thorn-bushes. These came abruptly to an end, and away, about a quarter of a mile off, stood three or four huts. Quickly she drew back. Too late. She had been seen. Two natives were crossing the patch of cultivated land--a big man and a small one--and both were armed with guns. She turned instinctively to flee, but in loud and threatening tones they called on her to stop. At the same time a rush of gaunt curs, from the neighbourhood of the huts, howling and yelping, decided the situation. Poor Nidia, panting with exhaustion and fear, turned again, and, trying to summon all her courage, stood awaiting the approach of the two barbarians, who were advancing towards her with rapid strides. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. MEPHISTO--IN BLACK. The aspect of the two natives into whose power she had fallen was not such as to inspire Nidia with any great degree of reassurance. They formed an evil-looking pair; the tall one, heavy, sullen, scowling; the short one, lithe, lean, very black, with hawk-like features and sunken cruel eyes. One circumstance, however, she did not fail to note, and it inspired her with a momentary gleam of hope. The big man was clad in the uniform of the Native Police, very much soiled and worn, and hardly looking identical with the smart get-up she had noticed in members of the same corps at Bulawayo, yet the uniform for all that. If he was a policeman she was safe. He would be bound to protect her, and guide her to some place of safety. To this end she addressed him. "You are a policeman, are you not?" "Where you go?" was the gruff reply. "To Sikumbutana. You must show me the way, and I will give you something you will like--money." "Sikumbutana? Kwa Jonemi?" repeated the man. "Jonemi?"--wonderingly. "John Ames! Yes; that is the name," she exclaimed, eagerly recognising it. "How much you give me?" "A pound. Twenty shillings." "Give me now"--stretching out his hand. Could she trust him? She would willingly have given twenty--fifty-- pounds to find herself in a place of safety, but the gruff offhand manner, so different to the smooth deferential way in which natives were wont to treat their white conquerors, inspired her with distrust and alarm. But she was in their power absolutely. She took out her purse--a dainty, silver-rimmed, snake-skin affair-- which contained some loose silver and a couple of sovereigns, and opened it. The big native snatched it roughly from her hand.