About forty miles from Standerton he saw a waggon standing by the roadside, and halted to try if he could obtain any information from its driver.

But on investigation it became clear that the waggon had been looted of the provisions and goods with which it was loaded and the oxen driven off.

Nor was this the only evidence of violence.

Across the disselboom of the waggon, its hands still clasping a long bamboo whip, as though he had been trying to defend himself with it, lay the dead body of the native driver.

His face, John noticed, was so composed and peaceful, that had it not been for the attitude and a neat little blue hole in the forehead, one might have thought he was asleep, not dead.
At sunset John outspanned his now flagging horses by the roadside, and gave them each a couple of bundles of forage from the store that he had brought with him.