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.  But now if we return to the manyatta to-morrow, we can march two hours to where are some Wanderobo; and the Wanderobo know this country and will take you through it.  If it pleases you, one of us will go get the Wanderobo, and the other will stay with you to show good faith.”

We rolled our eyes at each other in humorous despair.  Here at the very beginning of the reconnaissance we had run against the stone wall of African indirectness and procrastination.  And just as we thought we had at last settled everything!

“Why,” we inquired, “were not the Wanderobo sent at first, instead of yourselves?”

“Because,” they replied, with truly engaging frankness, “our chief, Naiokotuku, thought that perhaps we might find elephant here in the country we know; and then we should get for ourselves all the presents you would give for finding elephant.  But the elephant are not here now, so the Wanderobo will get part of the present.”

That was certainly candid.  After some further talk we decided there was no help for it; we must return to camp for a new start.

At this decision the Masai brightened.  They volunteered to set off early with Leyeye, to push ahead of us rapidly, and to have the Wanderobo in camp by the time we reached there.  We concealed somewhat cynical smiles, and agreed.

The early start was made, but when we reached camp we found, not the Wanderobo, but Leyeye and the Masai huddled over a fire.  This was exasperating, but we could not say much.  After all, the whole matter was no right of ours, but a manifestation of friendship on the part of Naiokotuku.  In the early afternoon the sky cleared, and the ambassadors departed, promising faithfully to be back before we slept.  We spent the day writing and in gazing at the vivid view of the hillside, the forest, and the distant miniature prospect before us.  Finally we discovered what made it in essence so strangely familiar.  In vividness and clarity—­even in the crudity of its tones—­it was exactly like a coloured photograph!

Of course the savages did not return that evening, nor did we really expect them.  Just as a matter of form we packed up the next morning, and sat down to wait.  Shortly before noon Leyeye and the Masai returned, bringing with them two of the strange, shy, forest hunters.

But by this time we had talked things over thoroughly.  The lure of the greater kudu was regaining the strength it had lost by a long series of disappointments.  We had not time left for both a thorough investigation of the forests and a raid in the dry hills of the west after kudu.  Mavrouki said he knew of a place where that animal ranged.  So we had come to a decision.