* * * * *

One afternoon we came upon two lemurs seated gravely side by side on a horizontal limb ten feet up a thorn tree.  They contemplated us with the preternatural gravity of very young children, and without the slightest sign of fear.  We coveted them as pets for Billy, but soon discovered that their apparent tameness was grounded on good, solid common sense.  The thorns of that thorn tree!  We left them sitting upright, side by side.

A little farther on, and up a dry earthy hillside, a medium-sized beast leapt from an eroded place fairly under my feet and made off with a singularly familiar kiyi.  It was a strange-looking animal, apparently brick red in colour.  When I had collected myself I saw it was a wild dog.  It had been asleep in a warm hollow of red clay, and had not awakened until I was fairly upon it.  We had heard these beasts nearly every night, but this was the first we had seen.  Some days later we came upon the entire pack drinking at the river.  They leapt suddenly across our front eighty yards away, their heads all turned towards us truculently, barking at us like so many watch dogs.  They made off, but not as though particularly alarmed.

* * * * *

One afternoon I had wounded a good wart-hog across the river, and had gone downstream to find a dry way over.  F., more enthusiastic, had plunged in and promptly attacked the wart-hog.  He was armed with the English service revolver shooting the.455 Ely cartridge.  It is a very short, stubby bit of ammunition.  I had often cast doubt on its driving power as compared to the.45 Colt, for example.  F., as a loyal Englishman, had, of course, defended his army’s weapon.  When I reached the centre of disturbance I found that F. had emptied his revolver three times—­eighteen shots—­into the head and forequarters of that wart-hog without much effect.  Incidentally the wart-hog had given him a good lively time, charging again and again.  The weapon has not nearly the shock power of even our.38 service—­a cartridge classified as too light for serious business.

* * * * *

One afternoon I gave my shotgun to one of the porters to carry afield, remarking facetiously to all and sundry that he looked like a gunbearer.  After twenty minutes we ran across a rhinoceros.  I spent some time trying to manoeuvre into position for a photograph of the beast.  However, the attempt failed.  We managed to dodge his rush.  Then, after the excitement had died, we discovered the porter and the shotgun up a tree.  He descended rather shamefaced.  Nobody said anything about it.  A half-hour later we came upon another rhinoceros.  The beast was visible at some distance, and downhill.  Nevertheless the porter moved a little nearer a tree.  This was too much for Memba Sasa.  All the rest of the afternoon he “ragged” that porter in much the same terms we would have employed in the same circumstances.