MASHONALAND 43 



to " Harari " (Salisbury), and as they passed our 

 little caravan they shouted a cheery salute to the 

 loquacious Julius or the more solemn faces of 

 Tom and Sam. Stream after stream we crossed 

 — all hurrying to join the great Mazoe — and then 

 at last one dull and clouded afternoon we reached 

 M'Rewas, a small native Commissioner's and 

 police post, about sixty miles from Salisbury. 



We passed a little, open cemetery, and as we 

 took our broad-brimmed hats off, we read the 

 names of men who had helped to mould Eastern 

 Rhodesia, and had left their bones in the country's 

 keeping. We halted for a few minutes at the 

 B.S.A.P.* post, and admired one of the finest 

 koodoo heads I have ever set eyes on. Its stately 

 owner had been pulled down by a lion. Half a 

 mile beyond the police post we pitched camp. 

 L., who had pluckily plodded along in the grip 

 of the malarial fiend for the two previous days, 

 took to his blankets, and I wandered away to 

 the local store to purchase a few supplies. High 

 up on a kopje I found the merchant of M'Rewas, 

 clad in flannels and a public-school blazer. He 

 gave me tea, and after we had talked of lions 

 and leopards, I bought a few tins of meat, fish 

 and milk. The gentleman storekeeper offered 

 to show me a short cut to camp, saying that he 

 wished to pay a call en route. I followed him, 

 and presently on the side of the kopje we came 

 to a thorn " scherm," or fence. Inside there 

 was a man unshaven and unshorn sitting on a 

 soap-box in the centre of his barricade. 



Not until some time after did I find out a little 

 of his history, and ascertain the whys and where- 

 fores of his lonely entrenchment. He was a 

 well-known man on the Rand a few years back, 

 * British South Africa Pohce. 



