Suddenly they came right upon a kraal nestling in a mimosa covered valley. Three old hags were seated against one of the beehive shaped huts, otherwise the place seemed quite deserted. No children were to be seen--not even a half-starved cur skulking around--and of men or cattle there was no sign. The spoor they were following had grown very indistinct, and here seemed to split up into several directions. The old women, frightful, toothless crones, all wrinkles and flaps, showed no signs of alarm at this unexpected appearance of the invading white men. On the contrary, they began to abuse them roundly in a shrill, quavering treble. "Macbeth _in excelsis_!" murmured Eustace at sight of them. "Stop that cackling, you old hell-cats!" said Carhayes with a growl like that of a savage dog, as he drew his revolver and pointed it right at them, a pantomime which they thoroughly understood, for their high-pitched abuse dropped to a most doleful howl. "Here, Eustace. You can patter the lingo better than any of us, and I haven't the patience, damn it! Ask these old rag bags which way the fellows with the oxen took." "We know nothing about men or oxen," came the prompt and whimpering reply. "You do know. Tell us quickly!" repeated Eustace warningly. Sullenly the first disclaimer was reiterated. A furious expletive burst from Carhayes. "We can't lose any more time being fooled by these infernal old hags!" he cried. "If they don't tell us before I count five I'll put a bullet through each of them. Now--_Inye_--_zimbini_--_zintatu_..." [One-- two--three.] "Hold hard, don't be a fool," warned Payne. "The shots are bound to be heard." "So they are. I know a better trick than that." And striking a match Carhayes walked his horse up to the nearest hut. This was sufficient. The old crones shrieked for mercy, while one of them quavered out: "Ride that way, _abelungu_!" [White men] pointing in a direction they had not intended to take. "But you will have to ride far--very far." Believing they had inspired sufficient terror to insure the truth of this information, and furiously cursing the time wasted in eliciting it, Carhayes crammed the spurs into his horse's flanks and started off at a gallop, followed by the other three. But the old crone's statement proved correct. A couple of miles further the tracks, which had been more or less scattered and indistinct, converged into one broad spoor. Another ridge, then down into a kloof, and up the other side. Then, as they gained the brow of yet another ridge, an excited ejaculation burst from the lips of all four. Nearly a mile in front, stringing up a long, gradual acclivity, trotted the thirteen oxen, urged forward by three natives.