Then there was nothing
more to be seen. Benita descended the column.
At its foot she met her father, who had come to seek her.
"What is the matter?" he asked, noting her excited face.
"Oh!" she said or rather sobbed, "there is a waggon with a white man
below. I saw the Matabele capture him."
"Then I am sorry for the poor devil," answered the father, "for he
is dead by now. But what could a white man have been doing here? Some
hunter, I suppose, who has walked into a trap."
The face of Benita fell.
"I hoped," she said, "that he might help us."
"As well might he hope that we could help him. He is gone, and there is
an end. Well, peace to his soul, and we have our own troubles to think
of. I have been to look at that wall, and it is useless to think of
climbing it. If he had been a professional mason, Meyer could not have
built it up better; no wonder that we have seen nothing more of the
Molimo, for only a bird could reach us."
"Where was Mr. Meyer," asked Benita.
"Asleep in a blanket under a little shelter of boughs by the stair. At
least, I thought so, though it was rather difficult to make him out in
the shadow; at any rate, I saw his rifle set against a tree. Come, let
us go to breakfast. No doubt he will turn up soon enough.
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