We huddled together, our rifles ready, uncertain whether or not
the animal would burst from the leafy screen at our very faces. The
Masai stood side by side, the long spear poised, the bow bent, fine,
tense figures in bronze.
Near sundown we found ourselves by a swift little stream in the bottom
of a deep ravine. Here we left the men to make camp, and ourselves
climbed a big mountain on the other side. It gave us a look abroad over
a wilderness of hills, forested heavily, and a glimpse of the landfall
far away where no white man had ever been. This was as far south as we
were destined to get, though at the time we did not know it. Our plan
was to push on two days more. Near the top of the ridge we found the
unmistakable tracks of the bongo. This is interesting to zoologists in
that it extends the southward range of this rare and shy beast.
Just at dark we regained our camp. It was built California fashion--for
the first and last time in Africa: blankets spread on canvas under the
open sky and a gipsy fire at our feet, over which I myself cooked our
very simple meal. As we were smoking our pipes in sleepy content,
Leyeye and the two Masai appeared for a shauri. Said the Masai,--
"We have taken you over the country we know. There are elephants there
sometimes, but there are no elephants there now. We can take you
farther, and if you wish us to do so, we will do so; but we know no more
of the country than you do.
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