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Mile after mile the patrol rode, but not the faintest trace of von Gobendorff's line of flight was to be seen. Whether he was alive or dead was a mystery yet unsolved. Towards midday they arrived at a kraal situated in a vast semi-circular expanse of open ground bounded on three sides by scarps of the Karewenda Hills.
I suppose you didn't happen to notice what he wore while he was attached to the Waffs?" "Boots and gaiters," replied Wilmshurst. "But, of course, that was some time ago." "And boots are scarce in this show," rejoined the other tentatively. "When a man gets used to wearing a certain pair he's not likely to discard them in a hurry. I'll bet that is von Gobendorff's trail."
The greatest caution was now necessary, the task of the patrol, failing von Gobendorff's capture, being to find out whether the lower slopes of the hill were held in force or only lightly so. If possible there was to be an avoidance of an exchange of shots with hostile outposts, but in any case the Rhodesians were to withdraw at the first sign of opposition.
The headman of the kraal, like most of his kind, was very communicative. Already the natives were appreciating the change of masters, for under German rule their lot was a hard one, forced labour and scanty or often no remuneration being the order of things. He had seen no one answering to von Gobendorff's description, but he gave other information.
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