self in Surrey. There is any amount of country like Arizona, and

more like the uplands of Wyoming, and a lot of it resembling the
smaller landscapes of New England. The prospects of the whole

world are there, so that somewhere every wanderer can find the
countryside of his own home repeated. And, by the same token,

that is exactly what makes a good deal of it so startling. When a
man sees a file of spear-armed savages, or a pair of snorty old

rhinos, step out into what has seemed practically his own back
yard home, he is even more startled than if he had encountered

them in quite strange surroundings.
We rode into the grass meadow and picked camp site. The men

trailed in and dumped down their loads in a row.
At a signal they set to work. A dozen to each tent got them up in

a jiffy. A long file brought firewood from the stream bed. Others
carried water, stones for the cook, a dozen other matters. The

tent boys rescued our boxes; they put together the cots and made
the beds, even before the tents were raised from the ground.

Within an incredibly short space of time the three green tents
were up and arranged, each with its bed made, its mosquito bar

hung, its personal box open, its folding washstand ready with
towels and soap, the table and chairs unlimbered. At a discreet

distance flickered the cook campfire, and at a still discreeter
distance the little tents of the men gleamed pure white against

the green of the high grass.
V. MEMBA SASA

I wish I could plunge you at once into the excitements of big
game in Africa, but I cannot truthfully do so. To be sure, we

went hunting that afternoon, up over the low cliffs, and we saw
several of a very lively little animal known as the Chandler's

reedbuck. This was not supposed to be a game country, and that
was all we did see. At these we shot several

times-disgracefully. In fact, for several days we could not
shoot at all, at any range, nor at anything. It was very sad, and

very aggravating. Afterward we found that this is an invariable
experience to the newcomer. The light is new, the air is

different, the sizes of the game are deceiving. Nobody can at
first hit anything. At the end of five days we suddenly began to

shoot our normal gait. Why, I do not know.
But in this afternoon tramp around the low cliffs after the

elusive reedbuck, I for the first time became acquainted with a
man who developed into a real friend.

His name is Memba Sasa. Memba Sasa are two Swahili words meaning
"now a crocodile." Subsequently, after I had learned to talk

Swahili, I tried to find out what he was formerly, before he was
a crocodile, but did not succeed.

He was of the tribe of the Monumwezi, of mediumheight, compactly
and sturdily built, carried himself very erect, and moved with a

concentrated and vigorous purposefulness. His countenance might
be described as pleasing but not handsome, of a dark chocolate

brown, with the broad nose of the negro, but with a firm mouth,
high cheekbones, and a frowning intentness of brow that was very

fine. When you talked to him he looked you straight in the eye.
His own eyes were shaded by long, soft, curling lashes behind

which they looked steadily and gravely-sometimes fiercely-on
the world. He rarely smiled-never merely in understanding or for

politeness' sake-and never laughed unless there was something
really amusing. Then he chuckled from deep in his chest, the most

contagious laughter you can imagine. Often we, at the other end
of the camp, have laughed in sympathy, just at the sound of that

deep and hearty ho! ho! ho! of Memba Sasa. Even at something
genuinely amusing he never laughed much, nor without a very

definite restraint. In fact, about him was no slackness, no
sprawling abandon of the native in relaxation; but always a taut

efficiency and a never-failing self-respect.
Naturally, behind such a fixed moral fibre must always be some

moral idea. When a man lives up to a real, not a pompous, dignity
some ideal must inform it. Memba Sasa's ideal was that of the

Hunter.
He was a gunbearer; and he considered that a good gunbearer stood

quite a few notches above any other human being, save always the
white man, of course. And even among the latter Memba Sasa made

great differences. These differences he kept to himself, and
treated all with equal respect. Nevertheless, they existed, and

Memba Sasa very well knew that fact. In the white world were two
classes of masters: those who hunted well, and those who were

considered by them as their friends and equals. Why they should
be so considered Memba Sasa did not know, but he trusted the

Hunter's judgment. These were the bwanas, or masters. All the
rest were merely mazungos, or, "white men." To their faces he

called them bwana, but in his heart he considered them not.
Observe, I say those who hunted well. Memba Sasa, in his

profession as gunbearer, had to accompany those who hunted badly.
In them he took no pride; from them he held aloof in spirit; but

for them he did his conscientious best, upheld by the dignity of
his profession.

For to Mamba Sasa that profession was the proudest to which a
black man could aspire. He prided himself on mastering its every

detail, in accomplishing its every duty minutely and exactly. The
major virtues of a gunbearer are not to be despised by anybody;

for they comprise great physical courage, endurance, and loyalty:
the accomplishments of a gunbearer are worthy of a man's best

faculties, for they include the ability to see and track game, to
take and prepare properly any sort of a trophy, field taxidermy,

butchering game meat, wood and plainscraft, the knowledge of how
properly to care for firearms in all sorts of circumstances, and

a half hundred other like minutiae. Memba Sasa knew these things,
and he performed them with the artist's love for details; and his

keen eyes were always spying for new ways.
At a certain time I shot an egret, and prepared to take the skin.

Memba Sasa asked if he might watch me do it. Two months later,
having killed a really gaudy peacocklike member of the guinea

fowl tribe, I handed it over to him with instructions to take off
the breast feathers before giving it to the cook. In a half hour

he brought me the complete skin, I examined it carefully, and
found it to be well done in every respect. Now in skinning a bird

there are a number of delicate and unusual operations, such as
stripping the primary quills from the bone, cutting the ear

cover, and the like. I had explained none of them; and yet Memba
Sasa, unassisted, had grasped their method from a single

demonstration and had remembered them all two months later! C.
had a trick in making the second skin incision of a trophy head

that had the effect of giving a better purchase to the knife. Its
exact description would be out of place here, but it actually

consisted merely in inserting the point of the knife two inches
away from the place it is ordinarily inserted. One day we noticed

that Memba Sasa was making his incisions in that manner. I went
to Africa fully determined to care for my own rifle. The modern

high-velocity gun needs rather especialtreatment; mere wiping
out will not do. I found that Memba Sasa already knew all about

boiling water, and the necessity for having it really boiling,
about subsequent metal sweating, and all the rest. After watching

him at work I concluded, rightly, that he would do a lot better
job than I.

To the new employer Memba Sasa maintained an attitude of strict
professional loyalty. His personal respect was upheld by the

necessity of every man to do his job in the world. Memba Sasa did
his. He cleaned the rifles; he saw that everything was in order

for the day's march; he was at my elbow all ways with more
cartridges and the spare rifle; he trailed and looked

conscientiously. In his attitude was the stolidity of the wooden
Indian. No action of mine, no joke on the part of his companions,

no circumstance in the varying fortunes of the field gained from
him the faintest flicker of either approval, disapproval, or

interest. When we returned to camp he deposited my water bottle
and camera, seized the cleaning implements, and departed to his