The
country around this junction is some of the roughest I saw in Africa.
We camped at the spot where the river ran at about its maximum distance
from the mountains. Our tents were pitched beneath the shade of tall and
refreshing trees.
A number of Masai women visited us, laughing and joking with Billy in
their quizzically humorous fashion. Just as we were sitting down at
table an Englishman wandered out of the greenery and approached. He was
a small man with a tremendous red beard, wore loose garments and tennis
shoes, and strolled up, his hands in his pockets and smoking a
cigarette. This was V., a man of whom we had heard. A member of a
historical family, officer in a crack English regiment, he had resigned
everything to come into this wild country. Here he had built a boma, or
enclosed compound, and engaged himself in acquiring Masai sheep in
exchange for beads, wire, and cloth. Obviously the profits of such
transactions could not be the temptation. He liked the life, and he
liked his position of influence with these proud and savage people.
Strangely enough, he cared little for the sporting possibilities of the
country, though of course he did a little occasional shooting; but was
quite content with his trading, his growing knowledge of and intimacy
with the Masai, and his occasional tremendous journeys. To the casual
and infrequent stranger his attitude was reported most uncertain.
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