Then the rain had come on, and
he had been unwilling to attempt the Mau while the footing was slippery.
This sounded reasonable; in fact, it was still reasonable. The grass was
here fairly neck high, and we found a rain-filled water-hole. Therefore
we decided to make camp. C. and I wandered out in search of game. We
tramped a great deal of bold, rugged country, both in canon bottoms and
along the open ridges, but found only a rhinoceros, one bush-buck and a
dozen hartebeeste. African game, as a general rule, avoids a country
where the grass grows very high. We enjoyed, however, some bold and
wonderful mountain scenery, and obtained glimpses through the flying
murk of the vast plains and the base of Suswa. On a precipitous canon
cliff we found a hanging garden of cactus and of looped cactus-like
vines that was a marvel to behold. We ran across the hartebeeste on our
way home. Our men were already out of meat; the hartebeeste of yesterday
had disappeared. These porters are a good deal like the old-fashioned
Michigan lumberjacks--they take a good deal of feeding for the first few
days. When we came upon the little herd in the neck-high grass, I took a
shot. At the report the animal went down flat. We wandered over slowly.
Memba Sasa whetted his knife and walked up. Thereupon Mr. Hartebeeste
jumped to his feet, flirted his tail gaily, and departed. We followed
him a mile or so, but he got stronger and gayer every moment, until at
last he frisked out of the landscape quite strong and hearty.
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