I determined to ride, at any rate for the present.
"Which way, Baas ?" asked Footsack.
"Down to the Granite Stream where the wagon stands," I answered.
"That will be through the Yellow-wood Swamp.

Can't we take the other road to Pilgrim's Rest and Lydenburg, or to Barberton ?" asked Anscombe in a vague way, and as I thought, rather nervously.
"No," I answered, "that is unless you wish to meet those Basutos who stole the oxen and Dr.Rodd returning, if he means to return." "Oh! let us go through the Yellow-wood," exclaimed Heda, who, I think, would rather have met the devil than Dr.Rodd.
Ah! if I had but known that we were heading straight for that person, sooner would I have faced the Basutos twice over.

But I did what seemed wisest, thinking that he would be sure to return with another doctor or a magistrate by the shorter and easier path which he had followed in the morning.

It just shows once more how useless are all our care and foresight, or how strong is Fate, have it which way you will.
So we started down the slope, and I, riding behind, noted poor Heda staring at the marble house, which grew ever more beautiful as it receded and the roughness of its building disappeared, especially at that part of it which hid the body of her old scamp of a father whom still she loved.

We came down to the glen and once more saw the bones of the blue wildebeeste that we had shot--oh! years and years ago, or so it seemed.