They set off at full speed, and easily picked up the trail at the place where the marauders had rushed from their hiding-place in the bush. They followed it without difficulty so long as it led across grass country, but lost it for a time soon after they entered the bush, because there were evident signs that a herd of animals larger that sheep had recently forced a way. However, they recovered it again after ten minutes’ search, and found from that point that it led in almost a straight line--so straight that John was puzzled. "I can’t make out why they haven’t tried to blind their trail and lead us astray," he said. "They must be very cocksure, or else they’re trying to ambuscade us. We’d better keep a sharp look-out." They rode more slowly now, yet at a brisk pace, narrowly examining every specially thick bush as they approached it, and avoiding any clump of woodland that might give cover to the marauders. Suddenly, when they were a good five miles, as John estimated, from the farm, on ascending a gradual slope they saw from its crest the flock of sheep placidly grazing on a little patch of grass about half-a-mile below. There was no sign of the raiders, and the surrounding bush being very thin, they must have been visible had they remained in the immediate vicinity. Cantering down towards the sheep, which scattered as they approached, the riders dismounted, rounded them up, and proceeded to count them. "They’re the Welsh crosses," said John. "Forty-nine--one missing. I can’t make this out at all. Look, here’s the trail of the men, let’s follow it up. We’ll tether the donkeys. The sheep won’t leave this grass." The trail led them straight towards a wood a mile further on. At the edge of this they saw clear signs of a sheep having been slaughtered and cut up. Entering the wood cautiously, they followed the trail for some distance, finding that it wound towards the north. Both were itching to punish the raiders, but the trail became more and more difficult to distinguish as the wood grew denser, and at length, hot and tired, and as much mystified as angry, they turned back and came out once more into the open. "It’s something to have got the sheep," said John. "But what was the beggars’ game? They couldn’t have seen us after them, and they wouldn’t drive the whole flock so far for the sake of cutting up one." "Sheer devilry, perhaps," suggested Ferrier. "They knew we’d overtake ’em before they had got very far, and I dare say are chuckling at having given us all the trouble for nothing. Rather a poor game, one would think." "Well, we’d better drive the sheep home. It’s a long march, and they’ll be pretty well done up by the time we get there." They remounted, and headed the flock towards the farm. Sheep, as every one knows, and as John had experienced on the road to Nairobi, are very slow travellers.