ALONE.

"I think we'll move on a little further to-day, if you feel equal to it,

Nidia."

She looked up in surprise.

"Certainly, if you think it advisable," she answered.

"Well, to tell the truth, I do. It's not a good plan to remain too long

in the same place. My notion is to work our way gradually to the

northern edge of the range, where we can reconnoitre the open country

between it and Bulawayo. It'll be that way we shall be most likely to

strike a patrol."

John Ames was occupied in plucking the guinea-fowls he had brought in

yesterday. Nidia had just lighted the fire and was engaged in making it

burn. The sun had just risen upon a glorious day of cloudlessness, of

coolness too, judging from the keen edge which still ran through the

atmosphere.

"John," she said, looking up suddenly, "is it because of what I told you

yesterday?"

"The proposed move? N-no. Yet, perhaps a little of that too. You

would never feel easy if left alone here again. But I have other

reasons--that smoke, for instance, I saw yesterday. It may mean

natives. There may have been fighting down Sikumbutana way or on the

Umgwane, and they may be taking to the mountains. We had better get

further on."

"Do you know, I am glad you have come to that conclusion. What I told

you yesterday has rather got upon my nerves, and, now we are going to

move, I'll tell you something more. I dreamt of it--dreamt that awful

face was bending over me looking into mine. You know--one of those

dreams that is horribly real, one that remains with you after you wake,

and, in fact, that you remember as though it had actually happened. Are

those birds ready?"

"Yes. Never mind. I'll fix them," he replied; and in a moment, fixed

on a deft arrangement of sticks, they were hissing and sputtering over

the fire. His mind was full of Nidia's dream. But was it a dream?

That shape, brushing past him in the darkness--the hollow, demoniacal

laugh? Had the being, whatever it was, actually entered the cave,

passing him seated there on guard? Was it a dream, indeed, or was it

the actual face which she had seen? The latter seemed far more like it.

Then he remembered that even if such were the case, it was too dark for

features to be distinguishable. He was fairly puzzled. And by way of

finding some solution to the mystery he went down to the spot which

Nidia pointed out to him as the scene of the first apparition, and

examined the ground long and carefully. There was not a trace of a

human footmark--not a stone displaced. He felt more puzzled than ever.

But not to Nidia was he going to impart his misgivings. With a change

of camping-place she would forget this rather unpleasant mystery, if

only it did not take to following them, that is--and indeed they would

be fortunate if they met with no more material cause for alarm.

"On the whole it's rather lucky we struck old Shiminya's place," he

remarked, as they were seated at their primitive breakfast. "Blankets,

matches, everything we have--and that's not much--we owe to him, even

the rifle and cartridges. When I cleared from Sikumbutana, with nothing

on earth but a pipe, a sword-bayonet, and a bunch of keys, I felt pretty

helpless, I can tell you. What must you have felt, when you first found

yourself adrift?"

"It was awful. That night--shall I ever forget it? And how strange we

should have met like that. The very next day I was going to send over

to let you know I was at the Hollingworths'. I only heard from Mr

Moseley that you were so near. Would you have come to see me?"

"Have you forgotten that last long day of ours, down by the sea, that

you can ask such a question?" he said gravely, his full, straight glance

meeting hers. Nidia was conscious of ever so slight a flush stealing

over her face. "How ingenious you are," intently examining one of the

wooden forks which he had roughly carved for her as they went along.

"You must let me keep these as a memento of this wandering of ours."

"How many are there?" he answered. "Three--may not I keep one of them?

I want a memento, too."

"Am I getting irremediably freckled and tanned?" she said. "And

tattered? Yet one would be in absolute rags, but for that

thorn-and-fibre needle and thread of yours."

"I never saw you look better in my life. There are no freckles, and the

brown will soon wear off, if you want it to. Though really it's

becoming--makes the eyes larger. So make your mind easy on that score.

As for tatters"--looking at his own attire--"I'm afraid we are rather a

ragged pair. By the way, I wonder what your people in England would say

if they could see you now."

"I know what they'd say to you for the care you've taken of me," she

answered seriously, "what they will say, I hope, one of these days."

He turned away suddenly, and bending down, began busying himself over

the rolling up of their scanty kit.

"Oh, as to that," he rejoined, speaking in a tone of studied

carelessness, "where should I have been all this time without you? Nice

cheerful work it would have been romping about the mountains alone,

wouldn't it?"

"You would have been in safety long ago without myself as a drag upon

you."

"Possibly; possibly not. But, speaking selfishly, I prefer things as

they are. But it's rough on you, that's what I'm thinking about. By

the way, old Shiminya isn't quite such a rip as I thought. I was more

than half afraid he'd have given us away when they cut him loose. But

he doesn't seem to have done so, or we'd have heard about it before

now."

This apparently careless change of subject did not impose upon Nidia.

She saw through and appreciated it--and a thrill of pride and admiration

went through her. Whimsically enough, her own words, spoken to her

friend on the day of that first meeting, came into her mind. "I think

we'll get to know him, he looks nice." And now--he had impressed her as

no man had ever before done. Full of resource, strong, tactful, and

eminently companionable as he had shown himself, she was intensely proud

of the chivalrous adoration with which she knew he regarded her, and all

manifestation of which he was ever striving to repress. What would she

do when they returned to safety, and their ways would lie apart? For

somehow in Nidia's mind the certainty that they would return to safety

had firmly taken root.

"Perhaps they haven't cut him loose yet," she suggested.

Her companion gave a whistle, and looked scared. Only for a moment,

though.

"Bad for him in that case. It would have been better for him and safer

for us--to have given him a tap on the head. I couldn't prove anything

against him, though I've had my eye on him for some time--besides, he

seems to have taken some care of you. But he's sure to have been found.

He's one of these Abantwana 'Mlimo, and too much in request just now."

"Is there anything in that Umlimo superstition, do you think, John?"

"There is, to this extent. From what I can get out of the natives it is

of Makalaka origin, and manifests itself in a voice speaking from a

cave. Now I believe that to be effected by ventriloquy. There is a

close `ring' of hierarchs of the Abstraction, probably most of them

ventriloquists, and they retain their power by the very simple but

seldom practised expedient of keeping their eyes and ears open and their

mouths shut. That is about the secret of all necromancy, I suspect,

from its very beginning."

"Then you don't believe in a particular prophet who talks out of a

cave?"

"No; if only for the reason that the cave the Umlimo is supposed to

speak from is one that no man could get into or out of--at least, so the

Matabele say. No; the thing is a mere abstraction; an idea cleverly

fostered by Messrs. Shiminya and Co. They shout up questions to the

cave, and ventriloquise the answers back."

What was it? Did the speaker actually hear at that moment a shadowy

echo of the mocking laugh which had been hurled at him from the

darkness, or did he imagine it? The latter, of course. But here, in

the very home of the superstition they had been discussing, could there,

after all, be more in it--more than met the eye? He could not but feel

vaguely uneasy. He glanced at his companion. She had altered neither

attitude nor expression. He felt relieved.

Over less forbidding looking ground their way now lay. The grey chaotic

billowings and craters of granite blocks gave way to table-land covered

with long grass and abundant foliage. Here they advanced ever with

caution, conversing but little, and then only in whispers. Indeed,

after the rest and comparative safety of their late refuge, it was like

entering into all the anxiety and apprehensions of peril renewed. Not

very fast, however, could they travel, for Nidia, though a good walker,

felt the heat, and John Ames, although, as he declared, he had "humped"

a heavier "swag" than that comprised by their load, yet it demoralised

him too.

A fireless camp amid the rocks, then on again in the cool of the

morning. And as their way lay over high ground, the sun rose upon such

a sea of vast and unrivalled wildness--castellated peaks and needle-like

granite shafts, here a huge grey rock-dome, smooth, and banded round by

a beautiful formation of delicate pink; there, and all around, cone-like

kopjes of tumbled angular boulders, as though the fire whirlpool beneath

earth's surface had swept round and round, throwing on high its rocky

billows, leaving in the centre this great dome, smooth and unriven.

Doves cooed among the greenness of the acacias, whose feathery sprays

gleamed bright against the background of grim rock in sombre masses.

"Yes, it is about as wild a bit of scene as you could find anywhere,"

said John Ames, in reply to his companion's cry of amazement and

delight. "You will have something to talk about after this; for you can

safely say you have been where very very few whites have ever set foot.

Even now there are parts of the Matopos which have never been explored.

The old-time hunters avoided them because there was no game--as we, by

the way, know to our cost; the traders because there were no natives--as

we know to our advantage; and the prospectors because granite and gold

don't go together."

The foliage grew more abundant as they advanced; the "marula" and wild

fig, and omnipresent acacia. Winding around the spurs of the great

hills every turn of their way would reveal some fresh view of exquisite

wildness and beauty.

"Look over there, Nidia. That might be the cave of the Umlimo himself,"

said John Ames, pointing to a great granite cone which rose up from the

valley bottom some little distance off. It was apparently about two

hundred feet in height, and in the centre of its face yawned a great

square hole, black and darksome.

"I wonder is it?" she said, gazing with interest at what was in fact a

sufficiently remarkable object, "If it isn't, it ought to be."

"Look," he went on. "Imagine it a bright moonlight night, and that

valley bottom crowded with about half the Matabele fighting-men, all

ranged in crescent formation, looking up at the cave there. Then

imagine the oracle booming forth its answers from the blackness of

yonder hole. Wouldn't that make a scene--eh?"

"Yes, indeed it would. But--how could anybody get up there? It looks

quite inaccessible."

"So it probably is. But there would be no necessity for anybody to get

up there. Messrs. Shiminya and Co. would take care of that part of the

entertainment, as I was telling you the other day. Well, we won't camp

near it on the off chance that it may be the real place."

The spot they did select for a camp-ground was some little way further

on, and a wild and secluded one it was, right in among rocks and trees,

and well up on the hillside. This elevated position was of further

advantage in that a reedy swamp wound through the valley bottom; two

water-holes of oval formation, gleaming like a pair of great eyes from

its midst.

"I'm afraid `skoff' is running low, Nidia," remarked John Ames,

surveying gravely a pair of turtle-doves and a _swempi_, the latter a

small variety of partridge, which he had knocked over with stones during

their journeying. "A brace of record pedestrians can't afford to let

themselves run down in condition. The English of which is that I must

go out and kill something--or try to."

"Mayn't I go with you?" she asked, rather wistfully. He looked

doubtful.

"I wish you could," he answered slowly. "But--you have walked enough

the last couple of days; and apart from the discomfort to you, it is

essential you should not overtire yourself. In fact, it might become a

matter of life or death. No. Be good now, and remain perfectly quiet

here, and rest. I'll be back before dark. Good-bye."

What impulse moved her to put out both her bands to him? He took them.

"Good-bye," he said again. One second more of their eyes thus meeting

and his resolution would be shattered. With a farewell pressure he

dropped her hands and was gone.

It was early in the afternoon, and warm withal. Left alone Nidia grew

drowsy and fell into a doze. When she awoke the sun was just going off

the valley beneath, and she was still alone. She sat up congratulating

herself upon having got through those lonely hours in sleep. He would

be back now at any moment. Rising, she went over to the runnel of water

which trickled down the rocks just behind their resting-place, and

bathed her face in one of its clear basins. Then she returned. Still

no John Ames.

The sun was off the valley now--off the world. In the brief twilight

the stars began to rush forth. A terrible loneliness came over her.

Oh, why was he so late? The two water-holes in the valley glared up at

her with a lack-lustre stare, as of a pair of gigantic eyes, watching

her loneliness. Still he came not.

Was he uncertain of the place? They had but just arrived there, and he

might well be. Fool that she was not to have thought of it, and now her

hands trembled with eagerness as she collected some dry grass and sticks

together, and caring nothing what other eyes might see it if only his

would, kindled them into a bright blaze.

How her hearing was strained to its uttermost tension! Every rustle of

a leaf, every snapping of a twig, sent a thrill of anticipatory joy

through her being, only to give way to sickening disappointment. An

hour went by, then two. Faint and exhausted, she had not even the

energy to prepare food. The one consciousness of her appalling

loneliness here in this scarcely trodden waste seemed to sap and

paralyse all her facilities. The weird voices of the night held a

different meaning now that she was lying out alone on the hillside.

Below, in the swamp, the trailing gleam of will-o'-the-wisps played

fitfully, and the croaking of frogs was never stilled.

Had anything befallen him? It must be so. Nothing short of that could

have kept him from returning to her. And she? She could do nothing to

aid him. She was so absolutely helpless.

"Oh, darling! why did I ever allow you to leave me, my own, my true

chivalrous love?" she murmured to herself amid a rain of tears,

confiding to herself the secret of her heart in the agony of her

distress and terror. And still the dark hours wore on, one upon

another, and he--the companion, protector--lover--did not return.

The night she had spent hiding in the river-bank after the slaughter of

the Hollingworths could hardly be surpassed for horror and apprehension,

Nidia had thought at the time. Now she recognised that it had been as

nothing to this one. Then she had hardly known the secret of her

heart--now she had discovered it. But--too late.

Yet, was it too late? Harm might not have befallen him, after all. He

might have missed his way in the darkness. In the very earliest dawn he

would return, and then the joy of it! This hope acted like a sedative

to poor Nidia's overwrought brain. The night air was soft and balmy.

At last she slept.

It was grey dawn when she awoke, but her awakening was startling, for it

was brought about by a loud harsh shout--almost in her ear. Nidia

sprang to her feet, trembling with terror. Several great dark shapes

fled to the rocks just overhanging her resting-place, and, gaining them,

faced round again, uttering their harsh, angry shout. Baboons? Could

they be? Nidia had seen here and there a dejected looking baboon or two

chained to a post; but such had nothing in common with these great

fierce brutes up there, barely twenty yards distant, which skipped

hither and thither, champing their great tusks and barking savagely.

One old male of enormous size, outlined against the sky, on the apex of

a cone, looked as large as a lion. Others came swarming down the rocks;

evil-looking horrors, repulsive as so many gigantic spiders.

Wild-eyed with fear, Nidia snatched up a blanket, and ran towards them,

waving it, and shouting. They retreated helter-skelter, but only to

skip forward again, mowing and gibbering. Three of the foremost,

indeed, great males, would hardly move at all. They squatted almost

within springing distance, gnashing their tusks, hideously threatening.

Then, as by magic, the whole gnome-like troop wildly fled; but the cause

of this change of front was hard and material. "Whizz--Bang--Whack!"

came a succession of stones, forcibly hurled, splintering off a rock

like a bullet, thudding hard upon simian ribs. Yelling and jabbering,

the whole crew skipped and shoggled up the rocks, and Nidia, with a very

wan and scared smile upon her pallid face, turned to welcome her

companion and protector--turned, to behold--not John Ames at all, but a

burly savage--a tall Matabele warrior, barbarously picturesque in the

weird panoply of his martial adornments.