"It's weary work this," he remarked, as he sat down again with a sigh, "keeping watch and watch all day, and dividing the night between us, too. It's a weary life. What can have become of Masheesh?" "The Matabele brave has cared for his own skin, and has fled to the mountains, like the rest of them," replied the missionary. "I thought better of him," said Hughes, absently, "and I am sorry I was wrong." "Look, is not that Umhleswa coming towards us," said Wyzinski. "God grant he may have made arrangements for our journey." "It is he, indeed," replied the other, as he rose to heap fresh branches on the fire. Slowly the chief stalked along, apparently not caring where he went, stopped opposite the two, and then, as if perceiving them for the first time, approached and squatted by the fire. Umhleswa's evil nature was now too well-known, for this seeming carelessness to dupe them. "Have my white brethren all they can want?" he asked. "No, chief, we ask the fulfilment of our contract, namely, an escort as far as the Zambesi." "My braves are badly armed, and may be unable to protect you. Will the white men give their rifles now?" The treacherous nature of the request was too evident for the veriest tyro to fall into the trap. To give up their means of protection, and at the same time the only ransom they had to offer, would have been an act of folly, "No, chief, we will not," replied Wyzinski, a silence following on his words. Suddenly an idea struck him. What if he were to utilise Masheesh's absence? It could not possibly do any harm, and it might do good. "Will Umhleswa wait until the Matabele chief comes with Mozelkatse's warriors to serve us as an escort. He has been gone many days and should be on his return?" he asked. The wily savage started, fidgeting as he sat. "It is a long journey across the Tati," he replied. "The Tati, chief?" asked Wyzinski, remembering at once that Masheesh had spoken of that river. "Yes, the Tati, where the yellow gold is found, which the Bamangwato now claim," replied the savage, pointing with his hand. "It lies yonder, between those hills of the Matopo and the more distant Zouga mountains." "And who owns the land?" inquired Wyzinski. "The great chief Machin calls it his," was the answer, "and Mozelkatse claims it as his, too." "You see, Hughes, how all tallies. Beyond those mountain somewhere near the sources of the Limpopo, there exist gold fields, and these rivers which Umhleswa names run into the Limpopo. Here, between those gold fields and the coast, were built the cities of the gold seekers of Solomon. We have trod their streets, and yonder stream, which Masheesh truly named Auro, took their riches to the port." "The deuce take your ruins, Wyzinski!" said Hughes. "Do try to get us out of the scrape we are in. Humour the scoundrel." Umhleswa seemed uneasy at this by-play, not understanding one word of English. "Will the white men keep their promise if Masheesh comes?"