pried. It was very slow hard work. In other fields the grain
stood high and good. From among the stalks, as from a miniature

jungle, the little naked totos stared out, and the good-natured
women smiled at us. The magnificent peak of Kenia had now shaken

itself free of the forests. On its snow the sunrises and sunsets
kindled their fires. The flames of grass fires, too, could

plainly be made out, incredible distances away, and at daytime,
through the reek, were fascinating suggestions of distant rivers,

plains, jungles, and hills. You see, we were still practically on
the wide slope of Kenia's base, though the peak was many days

away, and so could look out over wide country.
The last half day of this we wandered literally in a rape field.

The stalks were quite above our heads, and we could see but a few
yards in any direction. In addition the track had become a

footpath not over two feet wide. We could occasionally" target="_blank" title="ad.偶然地；非经常地">occasionally look back
to catch glimpses of a pack or so bobbing along on a porter's

head. From our own path hundreds of other paths branched; we were
continually taking the wrong fork and moving back to set the

safari right before it could do likewise. This we did by drawing
a deep double line in the earth across the wrong trail. Then we

hustled on ahead to pioneer the way a little farther; our
difficulties were further complicated by the fact that we had

sent our horses back to Nairobi for fear of the tsetse fly, so we
could not see out above the corn. All we knew was that we ought

to go down hill.
At the ends of some of our false trails we came upon fascinating

little settlements: groups of houses inside brush enclosures,
with low wooden gateways beneath which we had to stoop to enter.

Within were groups of beehive houses with small naked children
and perhaps an old woman or old man seated cross-legged under a

sort of veranda. From them we obtained new-and confusing-
directions.

After three o'clock we came finally out on the edge of a cliff
fifty or sixty feet high, below which lay uncultivated bottom

lands like a great meadow and a little meandering stream. We
descended the cliff, and camped by the meandering stream.

By this time we were fairly tired from long walking in the heat,
and so were content to sit down under our tent-fly before our

little table, and let Mahomet bring us sparklets and lime juice.
Before us was the flat of a meadow below the cliffs and the

cliffs themselves. Just below the rise lay a single patch of
standing rape not over two acres in extent, the only sign of

human life. It was as though this little bit had overflowed from
the countless millions on the plateau above. Beyond it arose a

thin signal of smoke.
We sipped our lime juice and rested. Soon our attention was

attracted by the peculiar actions of a big flock of very white
birds. They rose suddenly from one side of the tiny rape field,

wheeled and swirled like leaves in the wind, and dropped down
suddenly on the other side the patch. After a few moments they

repeated the performance. The sun caught the dazzling white of
their plumage. At first we speculated on what they might be, then

on what they were doing, to behave in so peculiar a manner. The
lime juice and the armchair began to get in their recuperative

work. Somehow the distance across that flat did not seem quite as
tremendous as at first. Finally I picked up the shotgun and

sauntered across to investigate. The cause of action I soon
determined. The owner of that rape field turned out to be an

emaciated, gray-haired but spry old savage. He was armed with a
spear; and at the moment his chief business in life seemed to be

chasing a large flock of white birds off his grain. Since he had
no assistance, and since the birds held his spear in justifiable

contempt as a fowling piece, he was getting much exercise and few
results. The birds gave way before his direct charge, flopped

over to the other side, and continued their meal. They had
already occasioned considerable damage; the rape heads were bent

and destroyed for a space of perhaps ten feet from the outer edge
of the field. As this grain probably constituted the old man's food supply

for a season, I did not wonder at the vehemence with which he shook
his spear at his enemies, nor the apparent flavour of his language,

though I did marvel at his physicalendurance. As for the birds,
they had become cynical and impudent; they barely fluttered out

of the way.
I halted the old gentleman and hastened to explain that I was

neither a pirate, a robber, nor an oppressor of the poor. This as
counter-check to his tendency to flee, leaving me in sole charge.

He understood a little Swahili, and talked a few words of
something he intended for that language. By means of our mutual

accomplishment in that tongue, and through a more efficient sign
language, I got him to understand the plan of campaign. It was

very simple. I squatted down inside the rape, while he went
around the other side to scare them up.

The white birds uttered their peculiarly derisive cackle at the
old man and flapped over to my side. Then they were certainly an

astonished lot of birds. I gave them both barrels and dropped a
pair; got two more shots as they swung over me and dropped

another pair, and brought down a straggling single as a grand
finale. The flock, with shrill, derogatory remarks, flew in an

airline straight away. They never deviated, as far as I could
follow them with the eye. Even after they had apparently

disappeared, I could catch an occasional flash of white in the
sun.

Now the old gentleman came whooping around with long, undignified
bounds to fall on his face and seize my foot in an excess of

gratitude. He rose and capered about, he rushed out and gathered
in the slain one by one and laid them in a pile at my feet. Then

he danced a jig-step around them and reviled them, and fell on
his face once more, repeating the word "Bwana! bwana! bwana!"

over and over-"Master! master! master!" We returned to camp
together, the old gentleman carrying the birds, and capering

about like a small boy, pouring forth a flood of his sort of
Swahili, of which I could understand only a word here and there.

Memba Sasa, very dignified and scornful of such performances, met
us halfway and took my gun. He seemed to be able to understand

the old fellow's brand of Swahili, and said it over again in a
brand I could understand. From it I gathered that I was called a

marvellously great sultan, a protector of the poor, and other
Arabian Nights titles.

The birds proved to be white egrets. Now at home I am strongly
against the killing of these creatures, and have so expressed

myself on many occasions. But, looking from the beautiful white
plumage of these villainous mauraders, to the wrinkled countenance

of the grateful weary old savage, I could not fan a spark of
regret. And from the straight line of their retreating flight I

like to think that the rest of the flock never came back, but
took their toll from the wider fields of the plateau above.

Next day we reentered the game-hauntedwilderness, nor did we see
any more native villages until many weeks later we came into the

country of the Wakamba.
XIX. THE TANA RIVER

Our first sight of the Tana River was from the top of a bluff. It
flowed below us a hundred feet, bending at a sharp elbow against

the cliff on which we stood. Out of the jungle it crept
sluggishly and into the jungle it crept again, brown, slow,

viscid, suggestive of the fevers and the lurking beasts by which,
indeed, it was haunted. From our elevation we could follow its

course by the jungle that grew along its banks. At first this was
intermittent, leaving thin or even open spaces at intervals, but

lower down it extended away unbroken and very tall. The trees
were many of them beginning to come into flower.

Either side of the jungle were rolling hills. Those to the left made
up to the tremendous slopes of Kenia. Those to the right ended