We were riding along the slope of a hillside, when in the ravine, a half mile away and below us, we saw something dark pop up in sight and then down again.  We shouted to some of the savage Wakamba to go and investigate.  They closed in from all sides, their long spears poised to strike.  At the last moment out darted, not an animal, but a badly frightened old man armed with bow and arrow.  He dashed out under the upraised spears, clasped one of the men around the knees, and implored protection.  Our savages, their spears ready, glanced over their shoulders for instruction.  They would have liked nothing better than to have spitted the poor old fellow.

We galloped down as fast as possible to the rescue.  With reluctance our spearmen drew back, releasing their prize.  We picked up his scattered bows and arrows, restored them to him, and uttered many reassurances.  He was so badly frightened that he could not stand for the trembling of his knees.  Undoubtedly he thought that war had broken out, and that he was the first of its unconscious victims.  After calming him down, we told him what we were doing, and offered to shoot him meat if he cared to accompany us.  He accepted the offer with joy.  So pleased and relieved was he, that he skipped about like a young and nimble goat.  His hunting companion, who all this time had stood atop of a hill at a safe distance, viewed these performances with concern.  Our captive shouted loudly for him to come join us and share in the good fortune.  Not he!  He knew a trap when he saw one!  Not a bit disturbed by the tales this man would probably carry back home, our old fellow attached himself to us for three days!

Near sundown, to make our promise good, and also to give our own men a feast, I shot two hartebeeste near camp.

The evening was beautiful.  The Machakos Range, miles distant across the valley, was mantled with thick, soft clouds.  From our elevation we could see over them, and catch the glow of moonlight on their upper surfaces.  We were very tired, so we turned in early and settled ourselves for a good rest.

Outside our tent the little “Injun fire” we had built for our own comfort died down to coals.  A short distance away, however, was a huge bonfire around which all the savages were gathered.  They squatted comfortably on their heels, roasting meat.  Behind each man was planted his glittering long-bladed spear.  The old man held the place of honour, as befitted his flirtation with death that morning.  Everybody was absolutely happy—­a good fire, plenty of meat, and strangers with whom to have a grand “shauri.”  The clatter of tongues was a babel, for almost every one talked at once and excitedly.  Those who did not talk crooned weird, improvised chants, in which they detailed the doings of the camp.