Shading his eyes with his hand, Captain Hughes paused breathless on the mountain-height. The whole country lay spread like a map before him. Far away to the east lay the face of a friend, for the blue line of the ocean was distinctly visible. The mountain range on which he stood ran nearly north and south, while the beautifully wooded plain, across which the party had travelled, was mapped out before his gaze, with Quissanga, Madanda, and the country of the Batonga plainly visible, the rivers looking like silvery threads, and the vast forests like inky spots, on the sunlit plain. To the north, stretched at the foot of the mountains, lay the plains they were yet to traverse, the unknown land of promise. It looked one dense forest, broken at rare intervals with open, and intersected by two rivers, one appearing a considerable sheet of water, while in the far distance, a range of lofty mountains loomed, dim, blue, and ghostlike in their outline. A deep interest attached itself to the scene, for between him and those mountains the Zambesi must run, and somewhere among the forests must lie the ruined cities of Zulu land, if indeed they existed at all, save in the excited imagination of the missionary. An hour had gone by and still Hughes stood gazing over the scene, when a shout came ringing up the hill-side, and soon a dark speck was seen jumping from ledge to ledge. Recognising his comrade, Hughes answered the cry. "I was anxious about you," said Wyzinski, as he stood breathless and panting on the summit. "The whole camp is out in search of you; Luji brought in a report that you had pitched over the cliff." "And so I did, thanks to his demon of a monkey." "Yes; we found the dead leopard, and when searching, I thought I saw something like a human outline on the mountain." "Now, Wyzinski," asked his comrade, as he leaned on his rifle, "where runs the Zambesi? for I suppose it is between us and yonder mountains." "Follow the coast-line," returned the other. "There lies Sofala, and some forty or fifty miles more to the north the Zambesi must empty itself into the sea at Quillimane." "Livingstone came as far south as that, and as far north from the Cape as the Limpopo." "He did: but instead of travelling further north as we have done, he turned to the westward, visiting the Bechuanas and Mozelkatse's country; but see, what on earth can that be?" The missionary pointed to a kind of cairn on the mountain-side. Beside it lay six slabs of stone, and that they were the work of the white man was evident. Cracked, blackened, and defaced, there was no mistake, the stones were worked into flat slabs, but whose were the hands that fashioned them? "There seems to be an inscription," said Wyzinski, as he stooped over them. "I feel deep marks in the stone, but the earth has given way beneath them, and creeping plants have grown over them. All these three are cracked and broken."