And the records are full of stories of the white man who has not
made good: of the coward who bolts, leaving his black man to take

the brunt of it, or who sticks but loses his head. Each new
employer must be very closely and interestedly scrutinized. In

the light of subsequent experience, I can no longer wonder at
Memba Sasa's first detached and impersonal attitude.

As time went on, however, and we grew to know each other better,
this attitude entirely changed. At first the change consisted

merely in dropping the disinterested pose as respects game. For
it was a pose. Memba Sasa was most keenly interested in game

whenever it was an object of pursuit. It did not matter how
common the particular species might be: if we wanted it, Memba

Sasa would look upon it with eager ferocity; and if we did not
want it, he paid no attention to it at all. When we started in

the morning, or in the relaxation of our return at night, I would
mention casually a few of the things that might prove acceptable.

"To-morrow we want kongoni for boys' meat, or zebra; and some
meat for masters-Tommy, impala, oribi," and Memba Sasa knew as

well as I did what we needed to fill out our trophy collection.
When he caught sight of one of these animals his whole

countenance changed. The lines of his face set, his lips drew
back from his teeth, his eyes fairly darted fire in the fixity of

their gaze. He was like a fine pointer dog on birds, or like the
splendid savage he was at heart.

"M'palla!" he hissed; and then after a second, in a restrained
fierce voice, "Na-ona? Do you see?"

If I did not see he pointedcautiously. His own eyes never left
the beast. Rarely he stayed put while I made the stalk. More

often he glided like a snake at my heels. If the bullet hit,
Memba Sasa always exhaled a grunt of satisfaction-"hah!"-in

which triumph and satisfaction mingled with a faint derision at
the unfortunate beast. In case of a trophy he squatted anxiously

at the animal's head while I took my measurements, assisting very
intelligently with the tape line. When I had finished, he always

looked up at me with wrinkled brow.
"Footie n'gapi?" he inquired. This means literally, "How many

feet?", footie being his euphemistic invention of a word for the
tape. I would tell him how many "footie" and how many "inchie"

the measurement proved to be. From the depths of his wonderful
memory he would dig up the measurements of another beast of the

same sort I had killed months back, but which he had remembered
accurately from a single hearing.

The shooting of a beast he always detailed to his few cronies in
camp: the other gunbearers, and one or two from his own tribe. He

always used the first person plural, "we" did so and so; and took
an inordinate pride in making out his bwana as being an

altogether superior person to any of the other gunbearer's
bwanas. Over a miss he always looked sad; but with a dignified

sadness as though we had met with undeserved misfortune sent by
malignant gods. If there were any possible alleviating

explanation, Memba Sasa made the most of it, provided our fiasco
was witnessed. If we were alone in our disgrace, he buried the

incident fathoms deep. He took an inordinate pride in our using
the minimum number of cartridges, and would explain to me in a

loud tone of voice that we had cartridges enough in the belt.
When we had not cartridges enough, he would sneak around after

dark to get some more. At times he would even surreptitiously
"lift" a few from B.'s gunbearer!

When in camp, with his "cazi" finished, Memba Sasa did fancy
work! The picture of this powerful half-savage, his fierce brows

bent over a tiny piece of linen, his strong fingers fussing with
little stitches, will always appeal to my sense of the

incongruous. Through a piece of linen he punched holes with a
porcupine quill. Then he "buttonhole" stitched the holes, and

embroidered patterns between them with fine white thread. The
result was an openwork pattern heavily encrusted with beautiful

fine embroidery. It was most astounding stuff, such as you would
expect from a French convent, perhaps, but never from an African

savage. He did a circular piece and a long narrow piece. They
took him three months to finish, and then he sewed them together

to form a skull cap. Billy, entranced with the lacelike delicacy
of the work, promptly captured it; whereupon Memba Sasa

philosophically started another.
By this time he had identified himself with my fortunes. We had

become a firm whose business it was to carry out the affairs of a
single personality-me. Memba Sasa, among other things, undertook

the dignity. When I walked through a crowd, Memba Sasa zealously
kicked everybody out of my royal path. When I started to issue a

command, Memba Sasa finished it and amplified it and put a
snapper on it. When I came into camp, Memba Sasa saw to it

personally that my tent went up promptly and properly, although
that was really not part of his "cazi" at all. And when somewhere

beyond my ken some miserable boy had committed a crime, I never
remained long in ignorance of that fact.

Perhaps I happened to be sitting in my folding chair idly smoking
a pipe and reading a book. Across the open places of the camp

would stride Memba Sasa, very erect, very rigid, moving in short
indignant jerks, his eye flashing fire. Behind him would sneak a

very hang-dog boy. Memba Sasa marched straight up to me, faced
right, and drew one side, his silence sparkling with honest

indignation.
"Just look at THAT!" his attitude seemed to say, "Could you

believe such human depravity possible? And against OUR authority?"
He always stood, quite rigid, waiting for me to speak.

"Well, Memba Sasa?" I would inquire, after I had enjoyed the show
a little.

In a few restrained words he put the case before me, always
briefly, always with a scornfuldignity. This shenzi has done

so-and-so.
We will suppose the case fairly serious. I listened to the man's

story, if necessary called a few witnesses, delivered judgment.
All the while Memba Sasa stood at rigid attention, fairly

bristling virtue, like the good dog standing by at the punishment
of the bad dogs. And in his attitude was a subtle triumph, as one

would say: "You see! Fool with my bwana, will you! Just let
anybody try to get funny with US!" Judgment pronounced-we have

supposed the case serious, you remember-Memba Sasa himself
applied the lash. I think he really enjoyed that; but it was a

restrained joy. The whip descended deliberately, without
excitement.

The man's devotion in unusual circumstances was beyond praise.
Danger or excitement incite a sort of loyalty in any good man;

but humdrum, disagreeable difficulty is a different matter.
One day we marched over a country of thorn-scrub desert. Since

two days we had been cut loose from water, and had been depending
on a small amount carried in zinc drums. Now our only reasons for

faring were a conical hill, over the horizon, and the knowledge
of a river somewhere beyond. How far beyond, or in what

direction, we did not know. We had thirty men with us, a more or
less ragtag lot, picked up anyhow in the bazaars. They were soft,

ill-disciplined and uncertain. For five or six hours they marched
well enough. Then the sun began to get very hot, and some of them

began to straggle. They had, of course, no intention of
deserting, for their only hope of surviving lay in staying with

us; but their loads had become heavy, and they took too many
rests. We put a good man behind, but without much avail. In open

country a safari can be permitted to straggle over miles, for
always it can keep in touch by sight; but in this thorn-scrub