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Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African Highlands

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Title: Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African Highlands

Author: Herbert Strang


        
Release date: March 15, 2012 [eBook #39161]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39161

Credits: Produced by Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SETTLERS AND SCOUTS: A TALE OF THE AFRICAN HIGHLANDS ***




Produced by Al Haines.

[Illustration: Cover art]

[Illustration: "The Bengali hurled the canful at his head." _See page
253_.]



                          SETTLERS AND SCOUTS




                   _A TALE OF THE AFRICAN HIGHLANDS_




                                   BY

                             HERBERT STRANG




                             _NEW EDITION_




                            HUMPHREY MILFORD
                        OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
                       LONDON, EDINBURGH, GLASGOW
                 TORONTO, MELBOURNE, CAPE TOWN, BOMBAY




       REPRINTED 1922 IN GREAT BRITAIN BY R. CLAY AND SONS, LTD.,
                            BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.




                      PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

The present story completes a series of three books in which I have
endeavoured to give impressions of life in the immense region known as
Equatorial Africa.  The scene of _Tom Burnaby_ was laid in the centre,
around the great lakes; _Samba_ was concerned with the western or Congo
districts; _Settlers and Scouts_ is a story of the east, more especially
the magnificent highland region which seems destined to become one of
the greatest provinces of the British African Empire.

The steady stream of emigration already flowing to British East Africa
is bound to swell when it is more generally recognized that in the hill
districts of Kenya, Naivasha, and Kisumu there are vast areas of
agricultural land constituting an ideal "white man's country."  In the
following pages I have attempted to show some of the conditions under
which the pioneers of emigration must work.  The development of
communications and the settlement of the remoter regions will soon
relegate such alarums and excursions as are here described to the
romantic possibilities of the past.  But it will be long before the
lion, the rhinoceros, the hippopotamus and other more or less formidable
neighbours cease to be factors with which the emigrant has to reckon.

For many facts, stranger by far than fiction, concerning the wild
inhabitants, human and other, of this most interesting region, I am
indebted to Mr. Arkell-Hardwick's _An Ivory Trader in North Kenya_ and
Colonel Patterson's _Man-Eaters of Tsavo_, among several important works
that have appeared during recent years.

It may be added that in the spelling of native names I have sometimes
rather consulted the reader's convenience than conformed strictly to
rule.  The name _Wanderobbo_, for instance, applied to an individual, is
a solecism, the prefix _Wa_ being a sign of the plural.  But it seemed
better to err than to afflict the reader with so uncouth a form as
_N'derobbo_.

HERBERT STRANG.




                                  ----




CONTENTS


    CHAPTER THE FIRST--The Emigrants
    CHAPTER THE SECOND--Said Mohammed, failed B.A.
    CHAPTER THE THIRD--In a Game-Pit
    CHAPTER THE FOURTH--White Man's Magic
    CHAPTER THE FIFTH--Juma takes to the Bush
    CHAPTER THE SIXTH--Raided by Lions
    CHAPTER THE SEVENTH--John runs the Farm
    CHAPTER THE EIGHTH--Hard Pressed
    CHAPTER THE NINTH--A Rearguard Fight
    CHAPTER THE TENTH--Driving Sheep to Market
    CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH--Rhinoceros and Lions
    CHAPTER THE TWELFTH--The Sack of the Farm
    CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH--Tracking the Raiders
    CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH--Ferrier Insists
    CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH--A Coup de Main
    CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH--Juma is Reinforced
    CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH--John's Letter
    CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH--An Attack in Force
    CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH--Trapped
    CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH--Shooting the Rapids
    CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST--A Combined Assault
    CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND--A Counter Stroke
    CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD--The Ivory
    CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH--Ferrier takes the Lead
    CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH--The Fight in the Swamp
    CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH--Back to the Farm

                                  ----

                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE BENGALI HURLED THE CANFUL AT HIS HEAD.

ONE OF THE WAKAMBA SLIPPED OFF WHEN HE WAS IN MID STREAM

THE BENGALI HURLED THE CANFUL AT HIS HEAD.

FERRIER RAISED HIS RIFLE, AND ... BROUGHT HIM DOWN WITH A BULLET THROUGH
THE HEART

THE HIPPO GAVE A SNORT, AND THE WATER AROUND HIM WAS AGITATED AS BY AN
IMMENSE CHURN

JOHN ORDERED HIS ASKARIS TO FIRE AMONG THE NEGROES ON THE LEFT BANK.



                                  MAPS

PART OF BRITISH EAST AFRICA

ENVIRONS OF JUMA'S FORT








CHAPTER THE FIRST--The Emigrants


The train was steaming over Mombasa Island, and Mr. David Halliday,
ejaculating "Now we're off!" settled himself in his corner and
comfortably fell asleep.  Age has its weaknesses--or its privileges,
according as you look at it.  Not that Mr. Halliday was aged, or even
old.  He was nearly fifty, and might have passed for younger.  His son,
at any rate, was neither old nor sleepy.  He was, in fact, but a few
months past his seventeenth year; and being possessed of an average
curiosity and a healthy interest in novel scenes, he looked with delight
on the groves of lofty cocoa-nut palms, the wide-spreading mangoes and
baobabs filled with chattering monkeys, and the long stretches of
park-like glades, brilliant with flowers, through which runs the Uganda
railway in the first stage of its long course to the shores of Victoria
Nyanza.

Mr. Halliday, son of a Scots farmer who had emigrated from Ayrshire
thirty years before, had been for many years agent--or "factor," as he,
being a Scotsman, preferred to call himself--on the estates of Lord
Sussex, who, as everybody knows, owns half the county from which his
title is derived.  He had managed to save some money during his
stewardship, but having entrusted the greater part of it for investment
to a bland London solicitor of his acquaintance, he had the misfortune
to learn one day from the newspaper that the lawyer had absconded,
leaving defalcations to the tune of some L50,000.  A few weeks
afterwards another calamity befell Mr. Halliday.  His employer, a
bachelor, died; the estates passed into the hands of a distant relative;
and the new peer, taking alarm at the large sums demanded of him in the
shape of death duties, announced his intention of cutting down expenses,
and employing a younger man to steward his estates, at a lower salary.
Luckily Mr. Halliday had a thousand or two safely invested, apart from
what he had lost through the lawyer's rascality; and being disinclined,
at his time of life, to seek similar employment, he cast about, during
his six months' notice of the termination of his engagement, to find
some new outlet for his energies and some secure channel for the use of
his little capital.

The problem was complicated by the necessity of starting his son in
life.  He had intended David for one of the professions, and put him to
a good school; but the boy had not shown any particular aptitude for
book work, except in the one subject that interested him--natural
history.  He was never so happy as when he was with dogs and horses; he
read with avidity every book about animals on which he could lay hands;
and once, when his career was being talked about, he said bluntly that
he knew he couldn't stand work at a desk in stuffy London, and implored
his father to let him go out to Canada or Australia.  Mr. Halliday
merely grunted at the time; he was a man of few words; but he thought
the matter out very carefully, and his attention having been called to
the opening up of East Africa consequent upon the completion of the
Uganda railway, he quietly made inquiries, obtained information about
the country, its climate, soil, and prospects in regard to
stock-raising, and one day startled his son with the news that he was
going out in a few months to settle.  Having once made up his mind he
let no grass grow under his feet.  One May day father and son left
London in a Peninsular and Oriental Liner, transhipped at Aden into a
vessel of the British India Steam Navigation Company, landed at Mombasa,
and after spending a fortnight there in preliminary preparations, took
tickets for Nairobi, three hundred and thirty miles down the line,
whence they proposed to strike up country and select the ground for
their settlement.

They travelled by the intermediate class--the third of the four classes
into which passengers on the Uganda railway are divided.  Mr. Halliday,
as he said, had not come out to Africa for the fun of it and having
spent considerably over L100 already in travelling expenses, he was not
inclined to spend more was absolutely necessary now.  By travelling
intermediate, unusual though it was, they saved nearly a hundred rupees
(the currency of British East Africa) on the first-class fare, and
twenty-five on the second, and every rupee they could save would be of
importance when they came to stock their ranch.  "And I haven't taken
return tickets, John," said Mr. Halliday.

Since the boy had been named David after his father, and had no other
name, it is necessary to explain how he came to be called John.  At
school, his name being David, on the principle of association of ideas
he was immediately dubbed Jonathan, though he might just as reasonably
have been called Saul.  Jonathan being too long was cut down to Johnny,
and finally to John; and when one of his school-fellows, on a visit in
the holidays, addressed him by this simple monosyllable, the name was
laughingly accepted by his parents as an excellent means of
distinguishing between the two Davids.  People who knew him only as John
were puzzled when he signed himself "D. Halliday," and one
matter-of-fact lady was not quite pleased when he said gravely that,
Prince Edward being known in the family circle as David, it was only
right that David Halliday should be known as John.  "I am glad I am not
your godmother," she replied grimly.

John, then, as we, like all his intimates, will call him, smiled
affectionately when he saw his father settle himself to slumber, and
devoted his own very wide-awake eyes to the scenery.  It was a feast for
the senses and the imagination.  The train, leaving Mombasa island for
the mainland, runs through a tract of undulating richly-wooded country,
with, here, groves of cocoa-nut palms and papaws; there, orchards of
mangoes and cashew apples; anon, vast plantations of maize and millet
and other grain crops.  There is plenty of time to take in the details
of this luxuriant panorama, for the train is climbing, climbing always,
and the traveller is not whirled along at the bewildering speed of an
English express.  Leaning out of the window, and looking back over the
route, John catches a last glimpse of the sea at Port Reitz, guarded by
the Shimba hills, and realizes that a new chapter in his life is
opening, full of romantic possibilities.

"A verree fine country, sir," says a thin staccato voice behind, and
turning, he is smiled upon by a swarthy face, with black moustache and
beard that have never known a razor, and surmounted by a spotless white
turban.

"Magnificent," replies John, eyeing his fellow-passenger curiously.

"But this is not the best," says the man again.  "We shall see, in due
time, scenes of still more prepossessing appearance, together with
myriads of four-footed beasts, et cetera."

"Indeed," says John, a trifle amused.

"Yes, sir.  When we come to Tsavo we may behold lions, truly denominated
the king of beasts, but no longer monarchs of all they survey, as
William Cowper beautifully and poetically says.  Man, sir, plays the
very dickens with Nature; the surveyor molests the ancient solitary
reign of Mr. Lion; he has to take a back seat."

John was quite unaccustomed to conversation interlarded with quotations
from what he had at school irreverently called "rep.," and wondering
what manner of man he had to do with he hazarded an indirect question.

"You seem to have read some of our poets," he said.

"Yes, sir, I am familiar with the masterpieces of English literature,
edited with notes.  My name, sir, is Said Mohammed, failed B.A. of
Calcutta University."

"Failed B.A.?" said John, puzzled.  He had met B.A.'s of several
universities, and even junior masters who called themselves Inter. B.A.
Lond. (honours); but a failed B.A. was a new species.

"Yes, sir; the honourable examiners formed a less elevated estimate of
my intellectual attainments than was reasonably anticipated, and when
the list was published, lo! my name was conspicuous by its absence. But
that is a bagatelle.  The honorific distinction--what is it but the
guinea stamp?  It is work, sir, that ennobles.  I have accumulated a
priceless store of knowledge; I am all there, I assure you."

John thought it only polite to murmur an assent to this, but he felt
himself ill equipped to sustain a conversation on the dizzy heights to
which Said Mohammed appeared inclined to ascend, and turning once more
to the window, he viewed in silence the ever-changing scenery.  The
luxuriant vegetation of the coastal region had given place to a vast
plateau covered with a dense scrub of umbrella-shaped acacias, with
patches of dry grass, and here and there a massive baobab rearing its
antic form from out the undergrowth.  He was interested in the little
stations, with their trim flower-beds and home-like appointments, at
which the train stopped at intervals of several miles; and gave but
perfunctory answers to the Bengali, who kept up, with every appearance
of pleasure, a continual flow of talk, informing him that this tree was
an aristolochia and that an aloe, and calling his attention at one spot
to a herd of sable antelopes which were startled by the train as they
drank at a stream, and dashed off into the jungle.  "Their scientific
name, sir, is _Hippotragus niger_," said Said Mohammed, and Mr. Halliday
waking at this point, the Bengali favoured him with a smile, and said,
"A verree fine country, sir; good-morning."

They took their lunch at Mackinnon Road station, at the foot of the Taru
hills.  Refreshed by his sleep and the meal, Mr. Halliday began to take
more interest in things in general, and John having introduced Said
Mohammed (mentioning impressively that he was a failed B.A. of Calcutta
University), a three-cornered conversation was begun, in which the
Bengali fluently expounded his views on many subjects.

"Yes, sir," said he, when the question of the treatment of native races
cropped up, "that is a subject to which I have devoted considerable
acumen.  Is it just, I ask you, is it worthy of this immense and
glorious empire on which the sun never sits, that the natives, the
primordial owners of the soil, should be laid under such restrictions as
are now in force?  Are we Indians not subjects of the same gracious and
glorious majesty, F.D., et cetera?  Have we not shed our blood in
defence of the Union Jack?  Are we not ready to fight and conquer again
and again like your jolly tars and all?  And yet my countrymen, to wit,
are not allowed in South Africa the full rights of citizens; and in this
country, where this verree railway was built by the labour of Indians,
it is becoming the rule to refuse them grants of land.  Is this sauce
for the gander, I ask you, gentlemen?"

"It's a very ticklish subject," said Mr. Halliday, "and I don't profess
to understand it.  I dare say those zebras yonder--look at them, John,
hundreds of 'em--think it great impudence on the part of this engine to
run snorting through their grounds.  But the engine runs all the same."

At Tsavo the line crossed the river Athi.  John looked out eagerly for a
glimpse of the lions which were said to infest this region, but to his
disappointment saw none.  Indeed, as the train passed through mile after
mile of uninteresting scrub, he began to feel that his first enthusiasm
for the country was premature.  But at Kibwezi the line enters another
belt of forest, the trees looped together with festooning creepers, and
filled with chattering monkeys and barking baboons; the undergrowth
brilliant with colour, both of the flowers and of birds and butterflies
innumerable.  Some miles farther on, at Makindu, the forest yields to
rich pasture land, the undulating plain stretching on both sides of the
line, broken by streams whose beds are lined with date-palms and firs.
All the vegetation was fresh and vivid through recent rains, and Mr.
Halliday, viewing the country with a stock-breeder's eye, now for the
first time allowed a remark on the scenery to pass his lips.  "That's
grand!" he said; and when the rumbling of the train set startled herds
of antelope and gazelle, red congoni and black wildebeeste, scampering
over the plain, he stood up in the carriage and gazed at them with
kindling admiration.

The oppressive heat of the morning had now given place to a pleasant
coolness, with a crisp exhilarating breeze.  When John expressed his
surprise at this, within a degree or two of the Equator, Said Mohammed
explained that they were now four or five thousand feet above sea-level,
among the Highlands of East Africa, where Europeans may live in health
and comfort.  By the time they reached Nairobi, indeed, the evening air
was so chill that both Englishmen were glad to don their overcoats.
Said Mohammed deferentially took leave of them on the platform of the
station, and disappeared among a crowd of Orientals gathered there;
while Mr. Halliday inquired for the coffee-planter to whom he had an
introduction, and who had offered him the hospitality of his bungalow so
long as he remained in Nairobi.




CHAPTER THE SECOND--Said Mohammed, failed B.A.


Nairobi was disappointing.  At a distance it looked like a cluster of
tin cottages, and though these appeared larger and more substantial on a
nearer view, they retained the dreary aspect of makeshift which
corrugated iron always gives.  Mr. Gillespie, however, the
coffee-planter with whom the Hallidays were to stay, was hospitality
itself; he and his good wife received their visitors with real Scottish
heartiness of welcome.  They gave them a capital dinner, and made them
feel thoroughly at home.

Mr. Gillespie was much amused when, in answering his question about
their journey from Mombasa, John told him of Said Mohammed, failed B.A.

"I'm that myself," he said, with a comical smile--"failed M.A. of
Glasgow, though I don't call myself so.  Professor Ramsay's Latin
Composition fair stuck me, that's a fact.  Man, these Indians are a
problem.  We've some thousands of them here, industrious, quick, and
able to live on next to nothing, which we Scotsmen have got out of the
way of.  I believe in free trade, when it is free; but I don't believe
in free competition with people who can beat us hollow, and these
Indians will do that if we let 'em.  We're bound to put restrictions on
them."

"But they're British subjects, sir," John was beginning.

"Aye," interrupted Mr. Gillespie, "and so are the lions and rhinoceros
of these parts, and we have to fight 'em.  A country can't belong to
both wild beasts and men; nor can it belong to black men and white; one
or other must go to the wall.  Not that the Indians are wild beasts, or
even black; on the contrary, they're very decent folk in the main, and
that's the worst of it.  The only solution I see is to let them develop
the Lowlands where we can't live, and to keep the Highlands for
ourselves.  Man, it's a grand country."

After dinner Mr. Gillespie led his guests to the verandah, and providing
them with deck-chairs and cigars, discussed with them their immediate
future.

"We've a decent club here; I'll introduce you to-morrow, Halliday.  You
can get a round of golf; and there are several young lassies who'll play
lawn tennis all day with your son if he wishes."

"Don't speak of it, man," said Mr. Halliday hastily.  "We're out on
business--strictly on business, and we've no time for playing till we've
fixed on our land.  Where is this Mount Kenya, anyway?  John
Gilmour--d'ye know him?--was out hunting a while ago, and he wrote me
he'd found the very place for me, somewhere south-east of Mount Kenya;
he stuck a post in the ground to mark the spot, and I've the directions
written down somewhere."

"Mount Kenya's a bit north-east of us, a hundred miles or so.  Fine
country, too."

"And how do you get there?"

"Well, the ground's not exactly fit for motor-cars yet, and horses don't
thrive.  You can get mules, but they're apt to be a trouble, so I guess
you'd better tramp it.  You'll have to carry food with you, and a load
of 'trade' for the natives; we'll have to see about getting carriers for
you; you pay 'em about four rupees a month, and feed 'em. Their food
don't cost much; you can get a hundredweight of native grain and red
beans for three or four rupees, and if you're good shots you can provide
yourselves with plenty of meat on the way."

"There's no fear of trouble with the natives, I suppose?"

"Not if you don't go too far north.  South of Kenya they're friendly
enough as a rule, but there are wild tribes on the east and north.  You
must have two porters who can shoot; Sniders they're used to; but don't
let 'em use them except in case of necessity.  Do all the game shooting
yourselves, and keep a firm hand on the men; they'll play you all manner
of tricks if you don't.  They're the queerest people God ever made,
that's a fact.  They'll desert at any moment and forfeit their pay, for
no reason at all that we can understand.  I could tell you of men who'll
carry a load of ninety pounds or more every day for a month on end, and
then all at once decamp, hundreds of miles away from their home, and
with no earthly chance of getting there.  But you'll find 'em out for
yourselves."

The talk lasted far into the night, Mr. Gillespie giving advice and
retailing reminiscences of his own early days as a settler, which John
drank in eagerly.  Next day they set about collecting porters for the
journey.  The news that a white man was going up country had already
spread through the native quarter of the town, and Mr. Gillespie's
office was besieged by a great crowd of black men, representing a score
of different races, all eager to join the stranger's "safari."  The
experience of the coffee-planter was very useful at this juncture, and
the Hallidays were quietly amused as he dismissed man after man with
little ceremony and a curtness of speech which, had they understood it
(he spoke in Swahili, the common vehicle of intercourse between European
and native), would have amused them still more.  A little M'kamba would
come forward with a smile.  "You're a thief; be off," said Mr.
Gillespie, and the man went away, still smiling.  A hulking Swahili
appears, a sullen look on his face.  "You're always quarrelling; be
off," says Mr. Gillespie, and the Swahili retires, to join the crowd of
rejected.  At length half-a-dozen men were selected, three Swahilis, of
whom Coja ben Selim, a big, good-tempered-looking fellow, was to be
headman; and three Wakamba.  Mr. Gillespie was doubtful whether so small
a safari would suffice; but Mr. Halliday was bent on economy; he argued
that he could not in any case afford an escort large enough to cope with
a serious native attack, and further, that a party of modest dimensions
was not so likely to provoke hostility as a large one.  Moreover, he
intended to pay only a flying visit to the site of his proposed
settlement, for the purpose of a preliminary survey.  If he was pleased
with the country, he intended to mark out the ground and put in an
application to the Land Commissioner for a lease of a thousand acres or
so.  With luck, a month would suffice for this prospecting journey,
which incidentally, as Mr. Gillespie informed him, would absolve him
from paying registration fees on his porters, such fees only being
necessary when they were engaged for two months or more.

It remained to hire a cook for the expedition.

"We don't need a cook," said Mr. Halliday.  "I've roughed it often
enough; we can do our own cooking."

"Man, you're a tenderfoot," said Mr. Gillespie, laughing.  "You must
have a cook.  Your men would all mutiny if you didn't.  I don't mean
that he would cook for them; they'll have their own cooking-pots; but
they wouldn't obey you for a day if they saw you cooking for yourself.
The first maxim for a white man in this country is: 'Never do a black
man's work.'  Order your men about as much as you please, but _don't do
anything_."

"But that's a doctrine of the dark ages.  Confound it, man, that's the
kind of thing we shook off centuries ago.  I'm not a duke."

"That's just exactly what you are here.  The natives will regard you as
their lord and master, and if you don't act up to the part--why, man, I
think the Governor will expel you as an undesirable alien.  In short,
you must have a cook."

Here Mr. Gillespie's native servant came in to say that an Indian
gentleman desired to see him.

"Send him in," said Mr. Gillespie, and there entered, suave and smiling,
Said Mohammed, failed B.A.  He bowed respectfully--a little too
respectfully, thought John--to his acquaintances of the day before;
then, addressing himself to Mr. Gillespie, he said--

"Having learnt in the bazaar, sir, that the esteemed gentleman in whose
company I had the honour to travel yesterday is engaging a safari, I
embrace the opportunity of submitting tender of my services in
unremitting attention to the interior economy--soups, joints, sweets, et
cetera, or, as one might say, _hoc genus omne_, as it were."

John opened his eyes.  Apparently the failed B.A. was offering himself
as cook; but John thought he must be mistaken.  Mr. Gillespie, however,
after a stare at his visitor, said in a severely practical tone--

"You have experience?"

"Yes, sir, I am _experientia docet_ with several years' standing, and
testimonials galore.  Videlicet, the Central Restaurant, sir, in London,
continuously chock-a-block on curry day when my dishes, prepared Indian
fashion, were the delight of city gents and ladies of prepossessing
appearance who feed there regular as clock-work.  In soup, joint, entree
I am a don; in sauce I am a wily adept."

"Come up to my bungalow and cook my dinner to-night," said Mr.
Gillespie.

"Verree good, sir.  The proof of the pudding is in the mastication
thereof.  Good-morning, sir, and assuring you of my best services at all
times."

There was a laugh when Said Mohammed had gone.

"He'll never do," said Mr. Halliday.

"Man, if he's any good at all he'll be a perfect treasure," said Mr.
Gillespie.  "And you'll have to pay him fifty rupees a month."

"Near L3 a month for cooking?" cried Mr. Halliday.  "Can't afford it."

"But, my dear sir, you can't get any sort of a cook here for less than
thirty rupees; and our failed B.A., if he's worth his salt, will be
worth fifty.  He will at least be clean; it's a part of his religion."

"Well, perhaps he's a failure all round.  Anyway, we don't want
kickshaws, and a cheaper man will do all we need."

But the dinner at Mr. Gillespie's that night turned out excellent--well
cooked, well served, and varied though simple dishes.

"Faith, Halliday," said the host, "if you don't engage the man I'll take
him myself.  That'll bring you up to the scratch if you've any Scotch
blood left in you."

Whether it was due to this provocation or not, Mr. Halliday engaged Said
Mohammed next day, for a month.  Then, having been advised of the
inexpediency of delay, which might be taken advantage of by his porters
to desert, he decided to set off the same day, as soon as the hottest
hours were past.  He sent Said Mohammed into the bazaar to buy the
necessary amount of food-stuff for the natives; Mr. Gillespie undertook
the purchase of small quantities of "trade"--sheeting, coloured cloths,
and beads for the most part; Mr. Halliday himself bought a small tent,
provisions, blankets, rifles and ammunition, and a few cheap utensils.
All these articles were sent up to the bungalow.  At three o'clock Said
Mohammed and the six porters arrived and set about packing up, under Mr.
Gillespie's directions.  Within an hour the loads were packed and placed
in a line on the ground.

"Now, Halliday," said Mr. Gillespie, "it's up to you.  You must give
each man his proper load, and don't be jockeyed."

There was a twinkle in his eye which Mr. Halliday detected.

"Are you setting a trap for me?" he asked.

"No, no, man; but as you're to be master, the sooner you feel your feet
the better."

Whereupon Mr. Halliday, who was not without courage as well as shrewd
common-sense, instantly confided the tent and personal baggage to two of
the three Swahilis, and distributed the remaining loads among the three
Wakamba by a rough and ready estimate of their muscular capabilities.
Then began what John called the "fun."  The Swahilis accepted their
loads without a murmur; were they not the best fitted to carry the
_bwana's_ belongings?  But one of the Wakamba, a stout little fellow
with one eye, uttered a terrible wail when he lifted his bundle to his
back, and, letting it down again, began to expostulate in a torrent of
gibberish, of which the _bwana_, of course, understood not a word.  The
others instantly followed his example, and all three began to wrangle
and gesticulate and abuse one another with a deafening clamour.  It was
plain that every man wanted the load of somebody else. Mr. Halliday
looked on calmly for a few moments, Mr. Gillespie curiously watching to
see what he would do, and placidly smoking a cigar without offering any
suggestion.  Suddenly Mr. Halliday called to Coja ben Selim, the
Swahili, and the only man whose name he knew.

"You're headman; settle it," he said calmly, turning on his heel.  "I
give you five minutes."

The big Swahili instantly went among the Wakamba, cuffing them right and
left.  In less than five minutes peace was restored, the Wakamba slung
their loads to their backs, passing the long loop of raw hide around
their foreheads; the Swahilis set theirs upon their heads; and the cry
of "Safari! safari!" indicated that they were ready to be off.

"A capital start, Halliday," said Mr. Gillespie.  "Good luck to ye."

Mr. Halliday and John shook hands heartily with their host and hostess,
and taking their rifles under their arm, set off after the little
caravan, the leader of which had already started a marching song.  Said
Mohammed, carrying a little bundle of his own, brought up the rear, with
Coja ben Selim.




CHAPTER THE THIRD--In a Game-Pit


John felt all the thrilling excitement of a new experience.  There was
nothing romantic, it is true, in trudging along at two miles an hour
over a decent road, which led at first through the spacious estates of
colonists who had already settled in the neighbourhood of the town. But
he knew that before long the caravan would enter a wild, unsettled
region, swarming with game large and small, holding innumerable
possibilities of encounters with strange beasts and men.  And though
there was nothing novel in the mere exercise of walking, it was both new
and amusing to find himself in company with African natives, marching
stolidly along under heavy loads, to a monotonous chant kept up by their
leader, who repeated the same words endlessly.  Curious to know what the
man was singing, he asked Coja ben Selim, the only man of them that knew
English.  The Swahili gave him a wide grin and said it was all nonsense,
and when John pressed him for the exact meaning he prevaricated and
looked uncomfortable.  The song was, in fact, an impromptu one, and the
words, literally translated, meant nothing more than "Two more white
men; oh, what noses!  Oh, what legs!" and if John had known he would
only have wondered what amusement the porters could have derived from
the constant repetition of such an uninspired and uninspiring refrain.
He made up his mind to learn the native tongue as soon as possible.

After they had walked for three or four miles it became suddenly dark,
but there was no pause, Mr. Gillespie having advised that they should
take advantage of the cool hours, and do a good ten miles before camping
for the night.  A new moon shed a little light upon the path, which, as
the scattered cultivated districts were left behind, entered a region of
long grass and belts of forest land.  Presently they heard the rushing
noise of water, and came to the brink of a deep ravine, whose bottom
they could not see for the trees and dense undergrowth with which it was
clothed.  Coja ben Selim was for crossing the ravine; he said he knew of
a fine place for camping a little beyond it; but Mr. Halliday was not
inclined to risk a broken leg, and decided to camp in a glade on the
nearer bank, and to attempt the crossing by daylight. The loads were set
down, the tent was pitched, and a fire lighted; soon the men were
cooking their simple supper, chattering cheerfully; and Said Mohammed,
opening up the stores, produced some cocoa, tinned milk and biscuits,
and in a few minutes provided his employers with a simple meal.  Mr.
Halliday discussed the advisability of setting a watch during the night,
but Coja said that there were no black men in the neighbourhood, and the
fires would keep off wild animals; so the two Englishmen wrapped their
blankets around them, and slept soundly till the dawn.

Mr. Gillespie had given his guests some instruction in the general
conduct of a safari, so that when Mr. Halliday put his head out of the
tent and called to the headman to take up the loads, there was a brisk
movement among the porters to the pile in which their bundles had been
stacked during the night.  They laid them in a row for inspection, first
lashing to them their mats and cooking-pots.  When this was done, they
squatted down to eat a few roasted grains of muhindi (maize), and while
the Swahilis struck the tent and tied up the bedding, the two Englishmen
having rapidly dressed, Said Mohammed prepared breakfast of tinned meat,
biscuits, and tea.  Then, to the customary cry of "Safari!" the porters
lifted their loads, the utensils were quickly packed, and while the dawn
was still grey the little party left the camp and began the descent of
the ravine.  Looking back as he came to the brink, John saw a hyena
slink out of the undergrowth and steal past the smouldering embers of
the fires, and birds like kites swoop down with rushing wings, soaring
up again with some remnant of food in their talons.  He felt now that
his new strange life was beginning indeed.

[Illustration: PART OF BRITISH EAST AFRICA]

The descent was safely made, the river waded, and climbing up the
further side, the travellers found themselves entering a region of bush
and thorns and tall rank grass, in the midst of which they heard at
times a swishing sound as some animal, invisible, darted away from
before them.  They had left the road leading to Fort Hall, the nearest
Government station, and struck off in a direction north by east.  The
leader picked his way steadily, following the track of an animal, the
others close behind him, though after a time some of the porters, weaker
or less willing than the rest, began to lag behind.  Though it was still
early morning, John found it already uncomfortably hot, and, taking off
his coat, gave it to Coja.  Once or twice he removed his sun-helmet
also, but Said Mohammed, at this, came to his side, and said, very
respectfully--

"Ten thousand pardons, sir, but a word to the wise: never expose your
manly brow to the solar luminary.  In a brace of shakes you will have
sunstroke."

"But there is no sun; I shan't hurt with this mist over the ground,"
John protested.

"It is human to err, sir.  You cannot see the sun, but he sees you, and
lo! in a moment he smites you, and it is no go.  The head, sir, is the
weaker vessel."

"Put on your hat, John," said Mr. Halliday.  "We don't want to run any
risks."

By and by the mist cleared, and having reached a ridge bare of trees,
the travellers suddenly caught sight of Mount Kenya in the distance,
rearing itself from the plain by such gentle slopes that it was hard to
believe that its summit was 14,000 feet above sea-level and covered with
snow.  Its peaks were swathed in cloud; indeed, only once or twice
during many months did the travellers catch a glimpse of them.  Then the
view was magnificent, and for the first time in his life John felt a
longing to climb a mountain.

Every day's programme was the same.  They started early.  After a march
of two hours a halt was called, to allow the laggards to come up with
the party.  Then the march was resumed, and continued until the sun's
heat became unendurable, and the men clamoured for a long rest.  One day
at this time Mr. Halliday, selecting a glade shaded by immense trees,
bade the men set down their loads, and take a siesta.  The resting-place
was not so well chosen as it had appeared to be; a stream ran close by,
and the travellers had hardly settled themselves when they were beset by
innumerable red ticks, which clung to the white men's clothing and bit
their skin savagely, sparing the natives.  The Hallidays, finding their
attacks intolerable, sprang up and went on, instructing Coja to follow
them when the porters were sufficiently rested.  They had not gone far
when they saw a herd of congoni, an animal of the antelope kind, dashing
across the plain, and John fingered his rifle longingly.  But Mr.
Halliday would not permit him to go in chase of them.

"We shall have plenty of sport by and by," he said, "and we don't want
to heat ourselves or lose touch with the men."

He had scarcely spoken when John caught sight of another safari coming
across a ridge in the distance.  Mr. Halliday thought it prudent to halt
until they were rejoined by the rest of their party, and they threw
themselves down under a baobab to wait for them.  It was two hours
before they came up, and the march had just been resumed when they heard
shots, and saw a number of black men rushing towards them at full speed.
Mr. Halliday was a little alarmed, thinking that an attack was imminent;
but in a few moments Coja told him that the approaching men were plainly
porters, for they were unarmed, but they bore no loads, and he suggested
that something had frightened them.

In a few minutes the first of the runaways came up, and began to talk
excitedly to Coja, who informed Mr. Halliday that the men were indeed
porters belonging to a safari returning to Nairobi, and that a
rhinoceros had just charged them, whereupon they had flung down their
loads and bolted.

"Where is their master?" asked Mr. Halliday.

The man, who had been joined by several of his comrades, pointed back in
the direction whence he had come.  No white man, however, was in sight,
and Mr. Halliday decided to hurry on and see what had become of him,
ordering the men to follow, which they were plainly reluctant to do.  He
came within half-a-mile to the scene of the stampede, the loads of the
porters strewing the grass; but there was no sign either of the
rhinoceros or of the young white man who, as the scared natives said,
was the master of the safari.  Coja declared that the _bwana_ must have
been gored or trampled by the rhinoceros, and suggested that they should
hurry on and get out of danger as quickly as possible; but Mr. Halliday
would not hear of leaving the spot until he had made an effort to find
the unfortunate traveller.  He ordered the men to set down their loads
and remain with them while he made a search, and asked whether any of
them could follow a rhinoceros trail.  One and all first denied that
they had ever seen a rhinoceros; but Mr. Halliday sternly told Coja that
they would have no supper unless they recovered their memory, and then
Coja himself reluctantly admitted that if the trail was very clear, and
if the white men would go one on each side of him with their guns, he
would try to lead them after the animal.

As a matter of fact, the trail was easily found, the ground being soft
and the grass heavily trampled.  It led them into a dense mass of bush.
Mr. Halliday, holding his rifle ready for the least sign of danger,
plunged into the jungle with John and Coja, the latter soon declaring
that he saw, together with the great hoof-marks of the animal, forming
paths on both sides of a ridge of grass, the smaller and fainter tracks
made by a white man's boots.

"Him killed dead, sure 'nuff," said Coja solemnly.  "No good look no
more."

"We'll make sure of it.  Go on," said Mr. Halliday, and the three
continued to follow the trail.

"What's that?" cried John suddenly, a few minutes later.

"White man call; him no dead yet," said Coja.

"Hallo!" shouted Mr. Halliday, and a faint "Hallo!" came in answer.

Coja turned a little to the right, in the direction of the sound.  Mr.
Halliday called again, and again the answer came, louder, but still
curiously muffled.  Led by the sound, they now left the trail of the
rhinoceros, and had proceeded but a few steps farther when Coja suddenly
came to a halt, and bursting into laughter, cried, "Him down there!"

"Where?" said Mr. Halliday in amazement, looking about him.  And then he
saw, in the midst of the grass, a deep hole, and at the bottom, nine or
ten feet below the surface, a young white man sitting cross-legged.

"Hallo!" he said, looking up with a smile.  "I thought it was my
brother, though it wasn't like his shout.  Can you help me out?  I'm
afraid I've sprained my ankle."

"Of course we can," said Mr. Halliday, "but I'd like to know what on
earth you are doing there."

"Thanking my stars I'm not skewered," said the other.  "Let down your
rifle, will you?  Perhaps I can manage to scramble out; but don't let me
drag you down."

Mr. Halliday lowered his rifle, holding it by the barrel, having first
taken the precaution of emptying the breech; and the prisoner took it by
the stock, and tried to clamber up the side of the hole.  But he winced
as his right foot touched the earth, and after a few moments said--

"I'm afraid I can't manage it.  My ankle has got a twist.  If you'll
shout for my men I'll get one of them to make a sling of rope and haul
me out."

"We needn't wait for that," said John.  "I'll jump down and give you a
lift."

"Look out, then.  There's a pointed stake in the ground here which I
only escaped by a hair's breadth.  Jump to the left.  It's uncommon good
of you."

John leapt down, and making a pick-a-back, got the stranger to mount and
then to stand erect on one foot.  His head was now just below the level
of the pit.

"I'm afraid we're not much for'arder," he said, with a smile.

"Can't you get your elbows on the edge and hoist yourself up?" suggested
John.

"Can't reach.  You'd better let me down."

"I'll tell you what," said John: "cut a notch in the wall for your foot.
Then you can hoist yourself up by the rifle until you are high enough to
get your elbows on; then it'll be easy.  The earth is pretty soft."

Sitting with his legs over John's shoulders, the stranger soon cut a
notch with his knife; and in a few minutes he was hauled to the surface.

"I'm much obliged to you.  I might have stayed there till I starved for
all my men would have troubled."

"How did you manage to fall in?" asked Mr. Halliday.

"A rhinoceros charged us as we were crossing the foot of the kopje
yonder.  He sprang out from behind a small mountain of an ant-hill.  My
men instantly flung down their loads and bolted--idiots! and as we're
rather short of meat I thought I'd try to get within shot of the beast.
I was following him up when the earth gave way under me, and I found
myself in this old game-pit, and don't know how I managed to escape the
skewer sticking up at the bottom, as long as my arm.  I say, you haven't
happened to see anything of my brother, I suppose?"

"We met nobody but your men," said Mr. Halliday.  "Has your brother lost
himself?"

"Old Joe lost!  Not a bit of it," cried the young man.  "He'll turn up
all right.  He left me a couple of hours ago to shoot something for
to-night's pot, and I thought you might have come across him.  I'm
rather a nuisance, I'm afraid; I can't put my left foot to the ground,
and our last donkey died four days ago, so that I can't ride.  We've had
uncommon bad luck with our donkeys.  As a rule they're hardy in this
climate, we were told; but every one of the six we started with has
died.  Really, I am a nuisance, keeping you here."

"Nonsense," said Mr. Halliday.  "Coja, shout for some of our men."

"No come, master," said Coja.  "Berry much 'fraid."

"If he goes and calls our headman a coward I think it will answer," said
the stranger.  "Headmen are very jealous of each other."

Coja entered into the spirit of the suggestion, and ran back over the
tracks.  In a few minutes the sounds of angry altercation came through
the bush, and Coja reappeared, in company with a white-clad Somali, each
man abusing the other at the top of his voice.  Mr. Halliday silenced
them sternly, and ordered them to construct a litter, promising a few
cents to the man who did the larger share of the work. They set to work
at once, weaving strands of creeping plants and stalks of grass with
amazing rapidity.  In less than twenty minutes a sheet of matting was
finished and firmly bound to two rifles, and on this extemporized litter
the stranger was carried between the headmen back to the open ground.

On the way he explained that his name was Oliver Browne, "commonly
called Poll," and that he came from Cape Colony.  With his elder brother
he had been shooting and prospecting in North Kenya and Gallaland, and
they had thoughts of settling in British East Africa, which seemed to
offer better prospects than they could see in South Africa.

"I suppose you're on the same job," he concluded.

"Well, we're going to have a look round," replied Mr. Halliday
cautiously.  "We're on a flying visit, you see."

"And I'm a nuisance, hindering you like this.  Here are my wretched men;
I shall be all right now; and I can't thank you enough.  We may meet
again, if we decide to come north.  Good-bye.  And I say, if you meet
that brother of mine, please tell him to hurry up, for if another
rhinoceros takes a fancy to charge us, and I can't bring him down, I
shall be a mangled corpse in no time."

"Hadn't we better stay with you till your brother turns up?" said John.

"Not at all.  The plain is pretty open here, and a rhinoceros could not
take us unawares.  I shall go on slowly, and camp when I come to a
suitable place, and my men will rig up a boma in no time.  Good-bye
again."

The matting had been transferred to two of the Brownes' rifles, and the
men of each party having collected and shouldered their loads, they set
off in opposite directions, the two headmen hurling abuse at each other
as long as they remained in sight.  Coja was particularly indignant
because his rival had received the reward for completing the greater
portion of the litter; but after a little Mr. Halliday consoled him by
saying, casually, that his portion had been the more closely knit, so
that he should receive a reward also.

"Dat oder fella no good, what I say," remarked Coja.

Half-an-hour after they had parted with Oliver Browne, they met a white
man whom at the first glance they knew to be his brother, so striking
was the resemblance.  He was attended by four porters, each carrying a
large portion of some newly-killed animal.  Mr. Halliday halted as they
came up, saying--

"You're Mr. Joe Browne?"

"That I am, but----"  He paused, looking puzzled.

"You don't know me," said Mr. Halliday, "so you needn't rack your
memory.  We've just met your brother.  He was after a rhinoceros and
tumbled into a game-pit."

"Clumsy ass!" cried Mr. Browne, in the manner of an affectionate
brother.  "No bones broke, I hope?"

Mr. Halliday reassured him on that point, and the two stood for a few
minutes exchanging notes.  The South African said that he had been much
attracted by what he had seen of the country, and if Mr. Halliday became
a settler, he would in all probability have him for a neighbour.

"But it won't be yet," he added.  "We must settle up our affairs at the
Cape first.  Three or four months, perhaps; you'll have grown your first
crops by then.  Don't shoot all the game before I come."

"You have left us some, I hope," said John, eyeing the porters' burdens.

"Oh, that's a couple of water-buck for the pot.  You'll find bigger game
than that.  Hippo meat's uncommonly good, but don't try elephant's foot;
it's a fraud.  Don't believe any one who tells you to the contrary.
Good-bye; pleased to have met you; bar rhinoceros or game-pits we'll
meet again."




CHAPTER THE FOURTH--White Man's Magic


When John found opportunity to put pen to paper, he wrote, as he said,
"loads" to a school chum about the incidents of the next few days, every
one furnishing a new excitement.  Mr. Halliday was so anxious to
accomplish the aim of his journey that he pushed on resolutely each day,
striking camp at earliest dawn, marching with intervals until ten,
resting until three or four, and then going on again until nightfall.
The ground was varied, now a stretch of grass land, now a belt of
forest; here a rapidly flowing stream rushing between high banks covered
with dense vegetation, there a tract of hard volcanic soil so rugged and
hot under the sun's rays that walking was painful.  It was only during
the intervals for rest that John was able to indulge his sporting
tastes, and at the same time do service to the commissariat. He caught
some fine fish in the rivers, and wished there had been time to follow
up the hippopotamus tracks he discovered on the banks.  He brought down
several water-buck and red congoni with his .303 rifle, and one day was
vastly excited to see a black-maned lion with his lioness cross from one
patch of reeds to another.  The sight of other game in wonderful
variety--zebras, leopards, antelopes--became so common that after a time
it ceased to be impressive, and opportunities for shooting them came but
rarely, the country they frequented being flat and open, and their scent
being so keen that it was almost impossible to come within range.

One incident that gave a little excitement was the crossing of the Thika
river.  The water was so deep and the current so swift that to ford it
was impossible, and after vainly searching for a shallow part, Mr.
Halliday confessed himself at a loss to know how to proceed.  John
suggested that they should fell a tree and throw it across the river as
a bridge, but this would be a somewhat lengthy operation; and Said
Mohammed said it would take less time to construct a raft.  This was
accordingly done, by lashing together three dead logs found on the bank;
but Mr. Halliday asked how it was to be prevented from being swept away
by the stream.  Coja showed himself to be a man of resource. Taking a
rope between his teeth, he plunged into the river, first looking warily
round to make sure that no crocodiles were in the neighbourhood, and
swam across, the force of the current giving his course an inclination
of sixty degrees.  Having reached the other side, he fastened the rope
to a tree, and by aid of this line the raft was ferried over, conveying
now the loads and now the men.  One of the Wakamba slipped off when he
was in midstream, and instantly howled that a crocodile was after him;
but Coja called him a liar, sprang after him, and catching him by the
hair, towed him safely to the farther bank.

[Illustration: "One of the Wakamba slipped off when he was in
midstream."]

Hitherto the party had met no natives; but Coja now informed his master
that the people of these parts were very bad, and advised that they
should go slowly, so that no stragglers should be left to be set on and
robbed--if not maltreated or killed.  Mr. Halliday was somewhat troubled
at the thought of unfriendly natives between his prospective estate and
the outposts of civilization; but consoled himself with the reflection
that the area of settlements was rapidly enlarging, and the country in
the settled parts being brought thoroughly under control.

The country beyond the Thika river proved to be more difficult than any
that had hitherto been traversed.  Bare rocky hills, cut by deep and
dangerous ravines, alternated with stretches of long coarse grass and
dense thorny scrub, impenetrable save by low tunnels made by roaming
hippopotami.  As they burrowed painfully through these tunnels, they
were oppressed by the suffocating heat, their clothes were torn by the
thorns, and their skin irritated by the multitudinous insects.  It was
like wandering through a complex maze, the hippo paths twisting this way
and that in apparently aimless fashion, though Coja said they were a
clear sign of the neighbourhood of water.  After a whole day spent in
this fatiguing march the party came abruptly upon a broad river, flowing
with swift but almost noiseless current between banks clad with noble
palms and every species of tropical vegetation, amid which countless
throngs of monkeys desported themselves, and birds of many colours
darted this way and that like fragments of a rainbow.  Mr. Halliday
pitched his camp for the night above the river, and for the first time
the porters surrounded it with a boma--a close fence of thorn bushes,
which they constructed with wonderful celerity.  For the first time,
too, a watch was kept, the porters being told off to take turns at
sentry-go.  It occurred to Mr. Halliday, waking in the middle of the
night, to see whether the sentry was alert at his post, and he was not
greatly surprised to find him fast asleep.  He shook him up and rated
him very soundly, his reprimand being, perhaps, the more impressive
because delivered in a tongue which the man did not understand.  Mr.
Halliday slept no more that night, coming to the conclusion that if it
was necessary to keep watch, the porters were not to be entrusted with
the task.

It was next day that the party first encountered the native inhabitants.
They came upon a luxuriant plantation of manioc, and shortly afterwards
saw a number of fierce-looking men, armed with spears, lurking in the
long grass.  Mr. Halliday ordered Coja to go forward and explain that he
was a friend, bent on a peaceful errand, and that he would give good
prices for any food the people cared to bring him.  One of the natives
ran back to the village, and soon returned with the chief, who presented
a singular appearance in a ragged and stained khaki jacket, and a
dilapidated sun-helmet with an ostrich feather stuck in it at a rakish
angle.  It turned out that this was not his usual attire, but had been
hastily donned in honour of the white man.

"He seems a very respectable old guy," said Mr. Halliday to John as the
chief came up with a broad smile.  With Coja's aid as interpreter, Mr.
Halliday repeated what had already been said to the men, and as an
earnest of what was to come, presented the chief with a number of
coloured beads, feeling somewhat doubtful whether such trifles were
worth the acceptance of one who, as his dress showed, had already had
some intercourse with Europeans.  But the chief showed unmistakable
pleasure, and immediately sent two of his young men to bring wild honey
and gourds of milk for the wasungu.  Presently a number of women came,
bearing loads of water-melons and other vegetables, which were very
welcome after the dry fare of the past few days, the vendors being
thoroughly satisfied with a handful of red beads or a short strip of
cloth.

Mr. Halliday had directed the course of his march, under Coja's
guidance, according to instructions and a rough map given him by his
friend Gilmour.  The district recommended to him as an excellent site
for his farm lay on high ground to the east of Mount Kenya, and Mr.
Gilmour had marked the exact spot by erecting a post, the top of which
was carved to the shape of a man's head.  When Mr. Halliday expressed a
doubt whether the post would still be found after the lapse of several
years, his friend reassured him on the point, declaring that the natives
would not touch it, and unless it had been thrown down by a sportive
rhinoceros, or "collected" as an object of interest by some wandering
European sportsman, it would remain precisely as he had left it.  Mr.
Halliday, judging by his sketch-map that he must have nearly reached his
destination, got Coja to ask the natives whether they knew of this post,
and was disappointed with their negative answer.  There was nothing for
it but to continue the march.  Accordingly he took leave of the friendly
natives, after purchasing considerable quantities of food, and set off.

There was every indication that his goal could not be far distant.  The
country was open, the soil a rich red loam, covered with rank rough
pasturage and wild clover, with occasional clumps of woodland.  The air
was so cool, except at mid-day, that it was hard to believe they were
within a degree or two of the Equator; but by testing the boiling-point
of water John discovered that the height was five thousand feet above
sea-level, and the temperate climate was explained.

Two days after leaving the native village Mr. Halliday decided to pitch
his camp, and taking that for a centre, to explore the surrounding
country.

"If this isn't the place, it ought to be," he said to John.  "I never
saw a finer country for grazing; it's good for three or four sheep an
acre, or I'm a Dutchman, and fruit ought to grow here as well as in
Kent."

"It's rather strange, though," said John, "that there's no game to be
seen.  There ought to be plenty."

"That's true.  Perhaps they've been killed off by some disease, though I
hope that's not the explanation.  We'll maybe find out by and by."

The camp was pitched near a shallow stream, a boma was erected round it,
and next day the travellers set off with Coja and one of the porters,
leaving the rest in charge of the second Swahili.

They waded several small streams, and in the afternoon came to a broad
river which, on consulting his map, Mr. Halliday felt sure was the one
marked as forming the northern boundary of his suggested settlement. But
though they searched its banks for some hours, they failed to discover
the post, and had to return unsuccessful, reaching camp after nightfall.
Next day they set off again in a different direction, so as to strike
the river at a point higher up its course.  When they came to it, Coja
pointed to a native village on high ground some distance on the other
side, and suggested that inquiry should be made there.  The river could
only be crossed by swimming, and there being no sign of crocodiles, they
plunged in, finding the water deliciously cold.  Their approach was
descried from the village, and they were soon met by a group of young
warriors armed with bows and arrows, who, standing at a distance,
demanded who they were and what was their business.  Coja shouted in
reply that they had come to make friends with the chief, and had brought
some valuable presents for him.  One of the men ran back to the village,
the others remaining on guard, and forbidding the strangers to advance
until the chief arrived.

Some little time elapsed before the chief made his appearance amid a
group of elders.  At first he stood suspiciously aloof while Coja
explained the purpose of the white men's visit, but when Mr. Halliday
displayed a strip of coloured cloth, and Coja announced that it was a
gift for the chief, the natives drew a little nearer, and said that they
were willing to be friends if the strangers would not rob them. Coja's
reply to this was that the white men were very good, and would never
dream of robbing their friends, adding that the cloth would be handed to
the chief if he would come and answer a few questions.

"Give it him at once," said Mr. Halliday, "and say there's more if
they'll tell us what we want to know."

The gift of the cloth finally disarmed the chief's suspicions.  Looking
very much pleased, he came forward with his men, and said that he was
ready to give what help he could.  Mr. Gillespie had warned Mr. Halliday
not to believe too implicitly any statements made by natives, who would
always say what they thought would please; so when, in answer to his
question about a post with a man's head, the chief said that he
certainly knew it, and asked for another piece of cloth, Mr. Halliday
shook his head, promising to give more presents if the chief would lead
him to the landmark.  At this the chief looked much troubled, and his
men began to talk eagerly, it being evident from their manner that they
were trying to dissuade him from complying with the white man's request.
Mr. Halliday was at a loss to understand their reluctance until Coja,
after a long colloquy with the chief, announced that they were afraid to
go near the post, which was a terrible devil, for their medicine man had
seen its eyes move, and its mouth grin at him.  It had come there
suddenly one day, no one knew how, but they thought it must have sprung
out of the ground, and some of their cattle that grazed around it had
soon afterwards died, so that they were sure it was a devil, and they
had never since allowed their herds to roam in that direction.

"Where is it?" asked Mr. Halliday.

The chief pointed up the river, and said that if the white man had
medicine strong enough to destroy the devil the people would be very
grateful.  Mr. Halliday thought he might turn this superstition to good
account.  He explained that he had come from the end of the world to
make a home in this country, and the devil had no doubt established
himself on the ground in order to show that it was to be a white man's
property.  But now that he had come, the devil's work of guarding the
land was over, and if the chief would promise to be a friendly
neighbour, the devil should be at once destroyed, and a good price
should be paid for the land, since it was clearly a part of the chief's
grazing grounds.  The chief gave the promise with alacrity, adding that
he would become the blood brother of any man who should rid the country
of so terrible a creature.  Thereupon Mr. Halliday asked him to lead the
way as far as he dared, and he should see for himself that the devil had
no power against the white man's magic.

The chief sent a messenger back to the village with this good news, and
soon a great throng of people came flocking down, men, women, and
children, some blowing rude horns, others beating drums, all in great
excitement.  The devil was on the bank of the river from which the white
men had crossed.  Having swum back in company with the chief and
half-a-dozen of his men, the travellers marched up the river, the
populace flocking along the other bank, being only occasionally visible
among the trees.

After walking for about half-a-mile, the chief struck away from the
river, and led the way to a saucer-like depression between two ranges of
low hills.  It was open grass country for the most part, but at the
further end of the hollow, about three miles away, there was a thick
mass of forest.  All at once the chief came to a halt, and, pointing
ahead, declared that the devil was there, and he would go no farther.
Neither Mr. Halliday nor John could distinguish the post among the long
grass, but asking the chief to remain where he stood, they went forward
to search for it.  After a few steps they missed Coja, and turning to
look for him, found that he had halted a hundred yards or so from the
chief, being evidently unwilling to face the devil, and at the same time
wishing to appear braver than the natives.

Walking some distance apart, so that they should not miss the post, Mr.
Halliday and his son in a minute or two caught sight simultaneously of
what they sought.  A thick knobby post stood among the grass, its top
about a foot above the level of the stalks.  The knob had been carved
with some skill to the shape of a face with the mouth wide open.

"We may as well do the job with becoming solemnity," said Mr. Halliday.
"We'll have a shot or two at it before we go near.  Range about a
hundred, isn't it?"

"I should think so.  Bet you I get most shots in his mouth."

"Considering that our rifles and cartridges are alike, I don't see how
you're going to judge.  Anyway, you take first shot."

John fired.  A flock of birds rose with a great clatter of wings into
the air, and the group of natives yelled and flung themselves face
downward into the grass, whereupon Coja began to taunt them with
cowardice.  A shot from Mr. Halliday followed; then each fired again,
and Mr. Halliday, turning round, declared that the devil was killed, and
walked towards the post.  Coja, now thoroughly reassured, ran after him,
the natives following at a distance.

"All four shots in the mouth; the honours are easy," said Mr. Halliday.
"You're a better shot than I thought you, John.  We'd better pull the
thing up, hadn't we?"

But they found the post so firmly fixed that they could neither pull it
up nor push it over.  It was evidently a case for digging.  Having no
implements with them they were obliged to leave it standing; but Mr.
Halliday showed the admiring natives the bullet marks in the mouth, and,
slapping the top of the head, assured them that the devil would do no
more harm.  He then gave the chief another strip of cloth and a handful
of beads in reward for his services, and the party returned to the
river, where the happy result of the expedition was announced to the
main body of the villagers, from whom the proceedings had been hidden by
the contour of the ground.  The chief wished Mr. Halliday to feast with
him, and afterwards witness a war-dance, and when the invitation was
declined, he insisted on his white friend accepting a small pied goat.

"The pioneer of our stock, John," said Mr. Halliday.  "But the chief
must take charge of it until we come up to settle.  I don't suppose we
shall see it again."

But in this he was mistaken, for when he came some weeks later to enter
into occupation of his estate, the goat was brought to him with every
mark of respect by a deputation of the villagers.




CHAPTER THE FIFTH--Juma takes to the Bush


Mr. Halliday spent the next two days in surveying the neighbourhood of
Mr. Gilmour's stake.  The country was all that his friend had described.
The soil was rich; the river, as the natives informed him, never ran
dry, though its waters were sometimes very low; and the valley was
intersected by several smaller watercourses, which, though now dry, were
full streams in the rainy season, so that the estate would never lack
irrigation except after long-continued drought.  Being well satisfied
with the locality, Mr. Halliday got his men to erect a number of
boundary posts about a rectangular area of some 1,500 acres, and then
set off on the return journey to Nairobi to lodge a claim for a
Government grant in the office of the District Commissioner.  He paid
his preliminary survey fee of seventy-five rupees; then, knowing that it
would be months before the official survey was made, he decided to
purchase stores, stock, and material for building a bungalow and
out-houses, and to engage porters to convey these to the spot, and a
certain number of servants to staff the farm.  Formal possession of the
land would be granted as soon as it was certified to be actually
occupied and the balance of the survey fee, some two hundred rupees, was
paid; but the lease for ninety-nine years would not be made out until
the Commissioner received proof that development had taken place, which
practically meant the expenditure of forty times the rent, this being
twelve cents an acre.  Thus it would be about three years before Mr.
Halliday was definitely accepted as a settler and leaseholder, and he
impressed upon John that they must both put their backs into the work if
they intended to be successful.

It was a month before the second safari was ready to start--a far more
important caravan than the first.  To begin with, there was a large
quantity of stores for the use of the white men, together with seeds,
root plants, and a few apple-tree slips, which by all accounts would
thrive.  Then there was a considerable amount of thin corrugated iron
for roofing, some glass, and some ready-made window-frames, which if
made on the spot would have involved too great an expenditure of time
and labour.  There were a few simple agricultural implements which Mr.
Halliday had brought from home, guessing, and rightly as it proved, that
even allowing for the cost of freight they were cheaper than they could
have been bought in Nairobi.  These included the "small holdings plough"
of Ipswich, which had to be taken to pieces for convenience of transit.
Mr. Halliday deplored the lack of roads and of bridges over the streams,
which made it impossible to employ vehicles for the carriage of his
goods, and prevented him from taking several pieces of machinery he
would have liked to have with him.  But he purchased a few donkeys, each
of which could carry twice as much as a man.

In addition to these articles, a large number of live-stock was included
in the caravan.  It might be possible, Mr. Halliday was told, to
purchase cattle and sheep from the natives in the neighbourhood of his
farm, but he was advised to buy a good number of half-bred animals in
Nairobi, the native sheep and goats being woolless, and of no value
except for their flesh and hides.  Later on, when he was fairly settled,
he hoped to introduce some English stock to cross with the native.
Accordingly he bought 750 sheep at an average price of six shillings a
head, a few goats, and a score of cattle, for which he paid L140.

To carry his goods he found it necessary to engage, in addition to the
donkeys, forty porters, a few of whom he intended to keep as labourers
on the farm or servants in the house, if they proved satisfactory.  Of
these forty only one, Coja the headman, had been a member of the first
expedition, the rest of that party being unwilling to do any more work
until they had spent their wages.  Twelve of the new company were
Swahilis, the remainder Wakamba or Wakikuyu.  Four of the Swahilis were
askaris, or armed porters.  Said Mohammed had done so well on the first
journey that he was engaged permanently as cook.  John declared that his
conversation was well worth his wages, but Mr. Halliday took severely
practical views of everything, and said that he didn't pay for
conversation.  He hired two Indian mistris for three months, at two
rupees a day, to build his bungalow and do what other carpenter's work
was necessary.  And since his farm was to be mainly a stock-farm, he
engaged a stalwart Masai and his son, a lad of sixteen or seventeen, to
assist in the herding, the Masai being a pastoral race _par excellence_.

Mr. Halliday had not intended to increase his men's burdens on this
occasion by "trade" goods, thinking that the friendship he had already
sealed with the chief of the neighbouring village would obviate any
further dealings with the natives.  But he changed his mind on the
advice of Mr. Gillespie, who represented that he might come in contact
with other tribes not so well disposed, that he might find it necessary
to purchase more sheep and cattle, especially if tick fever or some
other disease broke out among his stock, and that it would be well to
have the means of purchasing ivory, if he found an opportunity, the
tribes to the north of Kenya being reputed great elephant hunters.

All being at last ready, Mr. Halliday set out on his second journey,
which took him nearly four times as long as the first, owing partly to a
certain turbulence among the Swahili porters, and partly to the
difficulty of driving the animals.  Apart from their natural tendency to
lag and to stray, it was a difficult and sometimes a perilous operation
to get them across the many streams; fortunately it was the height of
the dry season, and the depth of water insignificant. Several sheep were
drowned, some strayed and could not be recovered; one or two died of
over-marching.  The donkeys also gave a good deal of trouble, having to
be unloaded at every stream, lugged across, and then loaded up again.
It was a long and tiresome business each night to construct a boma of
sufficient circuit to enclose the whole of the safari, and in spite of
this thorny fence, and watchfires kept constantly alight, a lion on one
occasion broke in at dead of night, snapped up a sheep, and made off
with it before the alarm could be given.

Mr. Halliday found the porters even more troublesome than the animals.
It turned out that one of the Swahilis was an old rival of Coja ben
Selim.  He was a big man named Juma, with a stronger strain of Arab
blood than the rest, and he constantly disputed Coja's authority, and
incited the other men to complain of their loads and their food.  Mr.
Halliday had to be continually on the watch, and only by dint of great
firmness and by keeping Juma on one occasion without food for a day did
he succeed in preventing a mutiny.  Juma had brought his wife with him,
a very stout negress of some Bantu race; or rather, she had attached
herself to the expedition when it had marched some ten miles out of
Nairobi, and resolutely refused to leave.  Her presence proved to be
rather an advantage than otherwise, for once when Mr. Halliday had found
it necessary to give Juma a stern reprimand, the woman volubly assisted
him, demanding of her husband why he was such a fool as to endanger his
pay.  Juma was evidently in some awe of his spouse, and Coja told John
privately that she had a terrible tongue.

At length the safari arrived at the site of the farm, and though Mr.
Halliday did not flatter himself that his troubles were over, he felt a
great relief that the anxieties of the journey were a thing of the past.
The first proceeding was to construct a substantial boma.  Then he
selected a site for his bungalow, fixing on a pleasant knoll above the
river and at a distance of about two hundred yards from it.  John
pleaded for a position nearer the river, but Mr. Halliday pointed out
that the stream was at present shrunk, and would no doubt swell to a
much greater width in the rainy season, when exhalations from it might
be dangerous to health.  He had brought a couple of tents to live in
while the bungalow was building; his natives ran up grass huts for
themselves; and within twenty-four hours of their arrival, with the
tents pitched, the huts erected, the sheep and cattle grazing, and a
boma enclosing them all, the place had already begun to assume the
aspect of a settlement.

During the first night the sleep of the camp was disturbed by the
distant roaring of lions, and Mr. Halliday took turns with John to
watch.  They had learnt from Mr. Gillespie that the lion stalks his prey
in absolute silence, so that they did not fear an actual visitation
while the roars continued; and though the sounds came nearer towards the
morning, the dread beasts made no attempt to break in. Examining the
ground on the following day, Mr. Halliday found pug marks about
half-a-mile from the enclosure, and a little further away the scanty
remains of a zebra.  The proximity of lions was somewhat perturbing.
Sometimes, as Mr. Halliday had learnt, the mere presence of man was
enough to drive them away; but if they had once tasted human flesh they
showed extraordinary audacity and cunning in obtaining further victims.
As a precaution, he caused an inner boma to be erected around the tents
and the grass huts of the men, so that if lions should break into the
outer enclosure they would find another barrier between them and human
prey.

During the daytime the building of the bungalow and the cattle-sheds
proceeded apace.  There was plenty of wood in the neighbourhood, and the
people of the village beyond the river assisted in cutting and
transporting the timber in exchange for a small quantity of cloth,
beads, or wire.  No work could be got out of the porters, except a few
of the Wakamba, who began to prepare the ground around the bungalow for
cultivation.  Mr. Halliday would willingly have seen the backs of the
whole company, but Juma declared that they must rest a few days after
their long march before returning to Nairobi; and having no means of
expelling them Mr. Halliday must needs submit, though he hoped their
stay would be short.  Apart from other reasons why their presence was
undesirable, they consumed a prodigious amount of food, which had to be
purchased from the chief; and while the Wakamba were satisfied with
grain and fruits, the Swahili demanded meat, which meant that either
some of the cattle must be killed, or the Hallidays must go hunting for
their unwelcome guests.

One day Wasama, the Masai herdsman, reported that a number of the sheep
had strayed.  Not willing to lose them, Mr. Halliday and John set off
with Wasama and two or three of the Wakamba to find them, taking their
rifles in the hope of bringing down some game for the men.  They tracked
the wanderers through the long grass to the west of the encampment, and
found that the trail led them into the woods on the rising ground in
that direction.  There they lost the trail, and scattered, the
Englishmen arranging to fire a shot as a signal to the others if either
of them came upon the track of the missing animals.

John was making his way through the wood, bending close to the ground,
when he suddenly came upon a small hut standing by itself in a little
glade.  It consisted of four upright logs, the interspaces filled with
brushwood, and covered with a roof of twisted boughs.  He halted,
wondering whose dwelling it might be, and then, a movement among the
undergrowth at the rear of the hut attracting his attention, he walked
slowly towards the spot, holding his rifle in readiness to encounter
danger.  To his amazement he saw a quaint little figure emerge from the
thicket.  It was the form of an elderly man, not more than four feet
high, dark brown in colour, with strangely bent shins, longish hair
streaked with grey, and protruding jaws.  He wore nothing but a loose
cloak of undressed skin hung from the shoulders, and he carried a small
bow.  Still more to John's surprise, the little man came forward, and
held out his hand with a frank gesture of friendliness, uttering a word
or two in a low, quiet voice.  John shook his hand, feeling a little
confused in his inability to speak to the man; then, thinking that he
might be able to assist in the search for the sheep, he fired off his
rifle, upon which the man sprang back into his hut with every mark of
terror.

The shot soon brought up the rest of the party, and on John explaining
why he had fired, Wasama went to the entrance of the hut and shouted
into the interior.  After a little hesitation the owner came out, and a
brief conversation ensued between the two men, at the close of which
Wasama, who knew enough English to make himself understood, explained
that the man was one of the Wanderobbo tribe and was living quite alone.
This fact was rather surprising, for the African natives always live in
communities, large or small.  But after further speech with the hermit,
Wasama said that he had no tribe or village, all his people having been
killed a long while ago.  He had since lived in this little hut,
occupying himself, after the manner of his people, in collecting wild
honey and hunting, selling the skins of the animals he killed to the
neighbouring villagers.

Mr. Halliday asked whether the man had seen anything of his sheep, and
the Wanderobbo at once offered to help in the search in return for a few
beads.  The party set off again, and, emerging from the wood at its
southern extremity, the little man soon discovered the trail, and the
wanderers were seen placidly grazing half-a-mile away.  The Wanderobbo
seemed much more delighted with the few beads given him than the value
of the gift appeared to justify, and at parting shook hands warmly with
the Englishmen, promising, when Wasama had told him of their settlement,
to bring them some honey shortly.  Wasama collected the sheep and began
to herd them back towards the farm, Mr. Halliday and the others going a
little farther in pursuance of his intention of shooting something for
the larder.  But an hour's search revealing no trace of game, he started
to return.  He had just overtaken Wasama, about a mile from camp, when
he saw Said Mohammed hastening towards him at a run.

"I hope there's nothing wrong," he said, but as the Bengali drew nearer
it was plain from his perturbed countenance that he bore bad news.

"Master and esteemed sir," he said, panting as he came up, "I regret to
inform you that a calamity has transpired."

"What is it?" asked Mr. Halliday, as the cook, who was of substantial
physique, paused to recover breath.

"Larceny, sir.  Juma, that badmash, awful scoundrel, sir, has lifted, or
shall I say pinched, four donkeys, a dozen rifles, and a regular heap of
trade goods, and has decamped, bunked, sir, with the Swahilis, who knows
where?"

"What was Coja about?" demanded Mr. Halliday, at the same time
quickening his pace.

"That, sir, deponent knoweth not.  In fact, I have not seen Coja for
some time, and suspect that he winked the other eye."

"How long ago was this?"

"I do not know the exact moment, since I was engaged in washing crockery
after our matutinal repast, and did not discover the crime until I had
made a hole in it; but on a modest computation I should say, not less
than five hours ago."

"Soon after we left, John.  Which way did the men go?"

"Of that also I am in blissful ignorance, sir."

"We'll soon track them, anyway.  John, we must go after them."

They hurried on towards the camp, taking Wasama with them, and leaving
the sheep in charge of the Wakamba.  When they reached the settlement,
it was apparently deserted, except by the Indian carpenters and Juma's
negro wife, who, as soon as she saw them, began excitedly to harangue
some person out of sight, and then ran behind the bungalow, the walls of
which were already up, and dragged forth Coja, whom she brought, a
sheepish and crestfallen object, before his master.

Mr. Halliday did not delay either to reprimand or to receive
explanations, but ordered Coja and the four Wakamba who had followed him
from his hiding-place to sling on their cooking-pots and a little food
and prepare to accompany him in chase of the fugitives.

"We don't know how long it will take us," he said to John.  "Said
Mohammed, you must come with us; we may be a day or two and shall want
you to cook.  Juma's wife seems a capable body; we'll leave her in
charge.  Coja, look for their tracks, and go on; we'll follow you."

Within a quarter of an hour of reaching camp the party set off,
numbering eight in all.  The track was very clear.  For three miles it
followed the route by which the safari had come several days before;
then, to Mr. Halliday's surprise, it made a sudden turn westward.

"I made sure they would strike for the coast," he said.  "They won't
dare show themselves in any of our settled parts, and I don't understand
their going off into the interior.  They've had a good start of us, but
we travel lighter and ought to catch them if we don't lose the trail."

The party hurried on, not pausing, though the day was now at its
hottest.  The trail led through open country, and across several
streams, some of them of fair size.  Here there were signs that the
donkeys had given trouble, the soft earth at the brink being so trampled
and cut up as to suggest that the animals had had to be pushed and
hauled into the water.  The trail was for the most part easily followed,
for the fugitives had clearly been in too great a hurry to attempt to
cover it.  Once or twice, when it crossed stony ground, Coja was
temporarily at fault, and he then declared he wished they had the
Wanderobbo with them, for there were no people like the Wanderobbo for
following a trail.  Were they not matchless elephant hunters?  But a
little skirmishing beyond such stony tracts sufficed to pick up the
trail again, and pushing on without respite, rest, or food, until
sundown, Coja said that the newness of the footprints showed that the
quarry was not far ahead.  Darkness fell, however, without their having
sighted the fugitives, and since they were all thoroughly tired and
hungry, Mr. Halliday decided to halt for rest and a meal, and to resume
the pursuit in the night if the moon rose, or at dawn.

"I say, father," said John, as they came to a halt, "we mustn't light a
fire, or we'll give ourselves away."

"Quite right.  We shall have to do without our cocoa to-night, and keep
an extra sharp look-out for lions."

The white men had to satisfy themselves with biscuit and water from a
brook; the natives ate some of the roasted beans without which they
never travel.  With the first glimmer of dawn the party were up and on
the trail.  Two hours' hard marching, at a pace which the natives had
never known before, brought them up with the thieves.  Coja was the
first to catch sight of them, and he held up his hand as a sign to the
rest to halt, informing Mr. Halliday in a whisper that the fugitives
were only a little distance ahead, in the act of crossing a stream. Half
of them had, indeed, already crossed; the remainder were trying to
induce the donkeys to face the water.

"Can we catch them?" Mr. Halliday asked.

"Yes, sah, go round about," answered the man.

He led them in a direction at right angles to the path, so as to make a
circuit and come upon the runaways from among the thick vegetation at
the brink of the river.  But Coja's advice turned out to be bad.  They
had reached the bank and were wheeling to burst upon the Swahilis, when
they were suddenly descried by those who had crossed.  A shout warned
the men struggling with the donkeys; without a moment's hesitation they
let go of the animals and took to their heels.  When Mr. Halliday came
upon the scene nothing was in sight but the donkeys, which on being
released had scrambled up the bank out of the river and begun to bray
with pleasure at the riddance of their loads.

"We ought to have come straight instead of round about," cried Mr.
Halliday, vexed at his failure to punish the men.  It was obviously
hopeless to pursue them further.  The scrub was dense; the Swahilis had
good rifles and ammunition; and being relieved of impedimenta, the loads
of goods having been left on the farther bank when they fled, they could
travel much faster than Mr. Halliday and his party, fatigued after their
forced march.

"We must be satisfied with having got back our donkeys and their loads,"
said Mr. Halliday.  "The men are a good riddance; but I grudge those
rifles of ours.  However, it can't be helped.  We must keep a sharp eye
on our people, and fire out at once any we can't trust."

The loads abandoned by the runaways were brought across the river
without interference, and after they had been strapped on the donkeys'
backs the little caravan started to return to the farm.




CHAPTER THE SIXTH--Raided by Lions


The return march was not so hurried as the pursuit, and it was the
afternoon of the fifth day after their departure when the little party
arrived at the farm.  Mr. Halliday was surprised that none of the
Wakamba had come to meet him, thinking that they must have descried him
from afar; and still more surprised when, on entering the enclosure, he
could not see any of his people.  Surely they had not all deserted!
Passing through the second boma, however, he heard a howl, and
immediately afterwards the natives came rushing pell-mell towards him
out of their grass huts, Wasama and Lulu, Juma's wife, leading the way.
They crowded about him, all shouting together, and making such a din
that Coja himself could not at once distinguish what they were saying.
But when Mr. Halliday had sternly called for order, Coja made out that
the people were in a terrible state of fright, because a cow had been
carried away during the night without a sound.

They declared that the robber must be the devil whom Mr. Halliday had
professed to slay.

"Nonsense!" said Mr. Halliday.  "It must have been a lion."

But no--Wasama declared it could not have been a lion, for he had not
heard a lion's roar, and there was no breach in the outer boma: only a
devil could have passed through it without forcing a gap.

When Mr. Halliday set Coja to question the man, however, he learnt that
neither he nor any other of the natives had stirred outside the inner
enclosure that day, so that they were hardly in a position to know
whether the boma had been broken or not.  An examination of it soon
revealed a gap in the western side, and bits of tawny hide were sticking
to the thorns.  Mr. Halliday insisted on Wasama following up the tracks
which even his inexperienced eye discovered, and within a quarter of a
mile he came upon some bones and a few remnants of a carcase, from which
a couple of vultures flew away.  Wasama, however, persisted in his
assertion that the track was not that of a lion, and the others backing
him up, Mr. Halliday sent John and Coja to the wood to fetch the
Wanderobbo, determined to clear up the point before dark.

The Wanderobbo came bringing a small gourd of wild honey which he
offered to Mr. Halliday.  The little man threw one glance on the
blood-bespattered ground, and then said that the tracks were undoubtedly
those of two lions, which would probably return to the spot during the
coming night.

"Then we'll stay and wait for them, John," said Mr. Halliday.  "We
mustn't be molested in this way, and the sooner we teach the beasts a
lesson, the better."

But the Wanderobbo, when this was explained to him, earnestly advised
the white men not to do anything of the sort.  There was no tree at
hand, he pointed out, in which the hunters could rest and watch for the
lions, and they, having far keener sight than men, would merely stalk
them.  In the darkness they could not even see to shoot.  He said that
they had better return to the settlement and watch inside the boma; and
since darkness would soon fall, he begged to be taken in for the night,
to which Mr. Halliday readily agreed.

Neither of the Englishmen slept that night.  They sat at their tent
door, with their rifles within reach, listening to the distant roaring,
and awaiting with a nervous impatience the onset of the terrible beasts.
The roars drew nearer, then ceased.  The men clutched their rifles, and
stole into the outer enclosure, where the sheep were huddled together in
terror.  They waited for several hours, peering into the darkness, but
neither saw nor heard any more of the marauders, though when they went
out with the Wanderobbo in the morning, they traced the spoor of lions
within a few yards of the boma.

This experience was repeated for several nights following.  To lessen
their fatigue, Mr. Halliday and John took turns to watch, but though
each night they heard the roars, there was no attempt to break in.
Thinking that the fires, which were kept burning all night, were proving
effectual in scaring the beasts, both father and son decided one day to
go to sleep as usual.  But in the middle of the night they were startled
by a yell.  Springing up, they seized their rifles, and rushed out of
the tent in their pyjamas.  There was a great commotion among the
animals in the outer enclosure, and dashing through them, Mr. Halliday
saw that a gap had been broken in the boma no more than three yards from
one of the fires.  The man whose turn it was to replenish it with fuel,
and whose yell had awakened the white men, said that a lion had sprung
through without warning and carried off a sheep.  It was useless to
attempt to pursue the robber in the dark, and Mr. Halliday could only
swallow his vexation and return to his interrupted sleep.

Nothing disturbed the work of the settlement during the daytime.  The
Indian carpenters were making good progress with the bungalow and the
other sheds which Mr. Halliday had decided to erect on the north side,
nearest the river.  The soil outside the boma was being slowly prepared
for crops, and finding after a few days that his Wakamba porters were
but indifferent labourers, Mr. Halliday dismissed them, resolving to
rely upon the people of the neighbouring villages for such farm labour
as he required.  He intended to bring only a small area under
cultivation at first, for the purpose of growing enough grain and
vegetables for his own consumption.  Difficulties of transit would
prevent him from dealing in farm produce; the work of driving his cattle
by and by over a hundred miles to market would no doubt prove arduous
enough.

But though the days were thus placid, the nights became a horror.  If a
watch was kept, the peace of the encampment was undisturbed except by
the remote and harmless roars; but as soon as the weary Englishmen
determined to enjoy a full night's rest, the thorn fence would be broken
at some new spot, and when the sheep and cattle were numbered in the
morning it was found that one or more was missing.  The natives became
scared, and as for Mr. Halliday, he declared it was positively uncanny.

"One would think the beasts have the gift of second sight," he said. "I
don't wonder our village friends kept their cattle off these grounds and
believed in Gilmour's devil."

The only incident that relieved the tension and afforded a little
amusement was the discovery one morning that the lion in his haste had
snatched up a bag of rice, which was found at some little distance, the
grains scattered about as though the thief had lost his temper when he
became aware of the mistake.

It was fortunate indeed for the little community that the lions were
apparently not man-eaters.  A lion that has once tasted man thenceforth
scorns lesser fare, and Coja told his employers harrowing stories of the
reign of terror under which the coolies who had been engaged in laying
the Uganda railway had lived.  Night after night the terrible beasts had
crept into the native encampments and stolen forth in dead silence with
their hapless prey, ceasing their depredations for months at a time, but
returning when the men were lulled to security, and beginning their
havoc over again.  Mr. Halliday had heard of this from Mr. Gillespie in
Nairobi; but the story told now by one who had actually lived in the
camps thus visited at night, and punctuated by the roaring of lions at a
distance, made a much more powerful and harrowing impression.  At any
moment the lions might become man-eaters. They had only to stumble upon
a native in their nocturnal raids and then the life of no man would be
safe.

More than once Mr. Halliday set off in the daytime with John and the
Wanderobbo, who was now a frequent visitor to the farm, to track the
lions and if possible hunt them down.  They found that the spoor led
into the dense scrub higher up the river, a region ten or twelve miles
in length and nearly as much in breadth.  So thick was the scrub that it
was impossible to trace the beasts for more than a few yards into its
recesses.  After what he had heard of the Wanderobbo's skill and prowess
as a hunter, Mr. Halliday was surprised to find how reluctant the little
man was to accompany them in their expeditions.  But he had a wholesome
dread of lions.  Elephants he was prepared to tackle, and indeed any
other creature of the wilds; though even them he would rather snare than
stalk; but the lion was a much more cunning and dangerous enemy.  He
would talk very bravely sometimes, avowing that if he met a lion and
stared at him the beast would slink away; but he showed no readiness to
enter the probable haunts of the creatures, and admitted that they
sometimes took it into their heads to fight instead of running away, and
then they were quite as clever hunters as he was. Mr. Halliday somewhat
impatiently reminded him that rifles were very deadly weapons; but the
Wanderobbo shook his head and said that he had never hunted lions with
rifles.  He had seen the Arabs do so, and pay for their temerity with
their lives.  On the whole his advice was to leave the lions alone, and
he once confessed very naively that if he, bold hunter as he was, saw a
lion approaching, he would certainly go the other way.

With such half-hearted assistance it was not surprising that many days
passed before the Englishmen so much as caught a glimpse of their
tormentors.  However, one morning when they had gone out with the
Wanderobbo and Coja to track the smaller game for food, they descried
two lions stalking slowly across a glade some miles up the river.  In
spite of the little man's reluctance Mr. Halliday determined to go in
chase, and then the Wanderobbo, forgetting his fears when his hunting
instincts were aroused, suggested that they should tempt the lions to
come within range.  He proposed that they should carry a water-buck
which John had just brought down, to a spot where the scent of it would
be wafted by the wind towards the beasts.  This having been done, the
party retreated to the rear of the lions and lurked behind some trees to
watch them.  The lions soon scented the game, and came slowly towards
it, moving with a majestic and yet graceful gait that extorted murmurs
of admiration from the Englishmen.  But when they had come within two
hundred yards, and John was quivering with excitement at the prospect of
his first encounter with the king of beasts, one of them became
suspicious and halted, lifting his head and sniffing the air, and then
uttering a low growl as if to warn his companion.  After a minute or two
they seemed to decide that they were being led into a trap, and, turning
about, stalked slowly away.

"Let's go after them, father," said John, unwilling to let this chance
slip.

The four set off stealthily to stalk the beasts, and after an hour's
fatiguing march over rough ground, saw them standing together at the
edge of a patch of bush just beyond range.  Bending low, and taking
advantage of every tree and tussock of grass, and a tall ant-hill, for
cover, the two Englishmen drew nearer and nearer, and were on the point
of lifting their rifles to fire, when the animals disappeared into the
bush.  There was nothing for it but to begin the stalking again.  They
cautiously made the circuit of the bush, and presently saw the lions
emerge from the further end and continue their promenade.  Again the
hunters followed them, at one moment flattering themselves that a few
yards further would bring them within range, the next chagrined to
perceive that the lions had quickened their pace and outdistanced them.
At length, when a thin patch of woodland enabled them to hurry their
steps and gave hope of overtaking their quarry, the lions broke into a
trot and soon disappeared from view.

"Well, if that isn't disgusting!" exclaimed John,

"How long have we been at this game, do you think?" asked his father.

"Two or three hours, perhaps."

"Five hours and a half, my boy, and I rather think we might have been
better employed."

John was too much disgusted at the failure of his first lion-hunt to say
any more; and when next morning it was found that one of the best cows
had been stolen he was still more angry.

"We must put a stop to this, father," he said.  "Can't we set a trap?"

"We'll see what our friend Bill says," replied Mr. Halliday.  The
Wanderobbo's name had proved so unpronounceable that he had been called
Bill for short.  Bill, however, said that lions were too clever to be
caught in traps, which did not seem improbable when he explained what he
meant by a trap--a simple pit with a sharpened stick at the bottom, like
that in which Oliver Browne had been found, or a spear suspended from
the branch of a tree and brought down by the animal treading on a rope.
Mr. Halliday set to work to devise a more effective machine.

He got the mistris to cut several stout logs, out of which they
constructed a sort of gigantic rat-trap.  The door was arranged so that
it was held in position by a light pole attached to a length of stout
wire, which was connected with a spring hidden under leaves on the floor
of the trap.  If a lion should enter and tread on the spring, the wire
would be released and the door fall behind him down two grooves of
corrugated iron.  To entice him to enter, a live goat was placed in a
compartment adjoining the trap, so strongly fenced that the bait was in
no danger.

This trap was rigged up, with the expenditure of a day's work, at one
corner of the outer boma.

"It's rather poor sport to treat the lion like a rat," said John, "but
that can't be helped.  If we catch one we shan't be able to get a good
shot at him in the dark, though."

"Well, we can either keep him there till daylight, or, better still,
burn a bit of magnesium wire--I've plenty; that will not only give us a
good light, but possibly help to scare other beasts away."

The trap was set.  For two nights nothing happened.  On the third, just
as the two Englishmen were thinking of turning in, they heard the door
of the trap fall with a clatter, followed by a low growl of rage.  They
caught up their rifles and hurried to the spot.

"Now for the wire, father," said John.  "You give me a light and I'll
pot the beast."

Mr. Halliday struck a match and ignited the wire, but just as John was
taking aim it fell to the ground.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I'm as nervous as a cat," said his father, with a rueful laugh.  "And I
haven't brought a second piece, confound it!"

"Well, we'll take a shot in the dark.  We can't both miss."

They fired together.  The next moment there was a terrific roar, a crash
as of shattered match-wood, and they knew that the infuriated captive
had burst through the walls of the trap, stout as they were. They fired
another shot in the direction they supposed him to have taken, and then,
vexed and disappointed, returned to their tent.  They found next day
that the lion had been wounded.  Bill traced it by the stains of blood
upon the ground.  But its injuries were plainly not very serious, for
the track failed at a patch of reeds a mile up the river, and the
Englishmen had to digest their chagrin that the troublesome beast was
still at large.  Their efforts, however, had not been wholly
unsuccessful.  The nocturnal visitations ceased, and since no roaring
was heard it appeared that the lions had been scared from the
neighbourhood.




CHAPTER THE SEVENTH--John runs the Farm


Within three months of Mr. Halliday's arrival at his farm, which he
named Alloway after the village of his father's birth, the place had
assumed the orderly appearance of a prosperous settlement.  The knoll
was crowned by a neat bungalow; two hundred yards below it stood two
wooden huts appropriated to Said Mohammed and the mistris; at some
distance from this a row of cattle-sheds had been erected; and beyond
these stood the grass huts of Wasama and his son and Lulu the negress,
these being all who remained of the original party.  Pens had been made
for the sheep and goats; about twenty acres of land had been prepared
for planting when the rains began; and a dairy had been started, being
cut out of the side of the knoll on which the bungalow stood, for the
sake of coolness and protection from the sun and dust.

The work of the Indians being finished for the present, Mr. Halliday
thought of paying them off; but reflecting that more fencing would be
needed by and by, as well as lambing-pens and cattle-sheds as the stock
increased, he decided to retain the men, even though he could not make
full use of them.

It chanced one day that a Swahili came to the farm with a letter from
Mr. Gillespie, enclosing one addressed to Mr. Halliday, and bearing the
Glasgow postmark and a date nine weeks back.  The flap of the envelope
bore the name and address of a firm of lawyers unknown to Mr. Halliday,
and he opened the letter with some curiosity mixed with apprehension.

"Well now," he exclaimed, as he hastily read it, "this is a pretty fix."

"What is it, father?" asked John.

"You've heard me speak of my uncle Alec--the old curmudgeon who lived by
himself and hasn't spoken to any of his family for twenty years. Well,
the poor old man is dead, and these people, Wright and MacKellar, tell
me that he left no will, and understanding that I am the next of kin,
they urge me to come to Glasgow and make good my title.  The letter was
written nearly three months ago, and seems by the look of the envelope
to have had an adventurous career."

"But hadn't your uncle any children?"

"One daughter.  She married without his consent: I forget the man's
name, and I haven't heard about her for five-and-twenty years."

"What will you do?"

"I'm just thinking.  My uncle was a shipowner, and pretty well-to-do:
indeed, your poor mother's friends used to advise me to keep in with
him, but I couldn't toady to the old bear.  I suppose I ought to go
back, and yet!----  It's rather upsetting, my boy, just as we are
getting settled.  He must have died before we left England, and if I had
known then, and really inherit his property, we needn't have come out at
all, perhaps."

"I'm jolly glad you didn't, then, for I wouldn't have been out of this
for anything."

"That's all very well, but there's the property: it would be a pity to
lose that: shouldn't like it to go out of the family.  At the same time,
I'm not inclined to give up the farm; we've made a good start, and I'm
uncommonly interested in it.  Besides, I may not be the heir after all;
my cousin may be alive: and I should look a pretty fool after going to
this expense if I cleared out and got nothing--like the dog in the
fable.  I think I'd better take a trip back to Nairobi and see
Gillespie.  And I'll tell you what I'll do, John.  If I decide to go
home, as most likely I shall, I'll find an experienced man in Nairobi
and send him up to take charge while I'm away."

"That's rather rotten," said John with a crestfallen look.  "I don't
want anybody here bossing me, father.  Why not leave me in charge?"

"You're over young, John," replied Mr. Halliday dubiously.

"I'm just on eighteen, and I've got a bit used to things.  I learnt a
lot in that six months at the agricultural college before we started.
I'm not exactly a fool, either.  Plenty of fellows have gone to the
Colonies on their own at my age, and done jolly well too.  Look at Ned
Cooper; he's got his own ranch in British Columbia, and he's not more
than a year older than I am.  Besides, look at the expense.  You won't
get a decent Englishman who'll be any good under L300 a year, I should
think, and if this business in Glasgow turns out a frost, you'll be
precious sorry you spent the money."

"There's something in that," said Mr. Halliday, stroking his beard.
"Well, I'll think of it."

The upshot of his meditations was that he decided to do as John
suggested.  The lad was unfeignedly delighted; the responsibility did
not daunt him; though he said little he felt capable of carrying on the
work of the farm, and inwardly resolved to have a good budget to show
his father when he returned.  Mr. Halliday spent a good many anxious
hours in instilling principles of caution and carefulness into his mind:
he gave directions about the steps to be taken to bring the cattle and
sheep and dairy produce to market when the proper time came; and then
one day he set off with Coja and a couple of villagers as porters,
determined to ask Mr. Gillespie to keep an eye on the boy as far as he
could.

Before leaving he had a little conversation with Said Mohammed, upon
whom he impressed the necessity of paying implicit obedience to his
young master, and of helping him in every possible way.

"Verb. sap., sir," said the Bengali.  "Mr. John is a chip of the old
block, a second edition of you, sir, and I esteem myself most fortunate
and in clover to do this trivial round for such a superior person."

Things went on very peacefully and on the whole prosperously at the farm
after Mr. Halliday's departure.  He sent Coja back from Nairobi with a
letter in which he wrote that Mr. Gillespie had advised him to return to
England, and had promised to pay John a visit if he found time.  The
rains began soon after Mr. Halliday had gone, and John was mortified
when a few of the sheep died through catching a chill; but apart from
this misfortune nothing happened to trouble him.  He had no difficulties
with the people under his authority.  Coja proved to be a handy man;
Wasama and his son were excellent herdsmen; and Lulu not only did a fair
share of labour in the fields with the villagers, but excelled in
laundry work, and looked after John's simple wardrobe with a neatness
and care which would have put many a London landlady to the blush.  As
for Said Mohammed, he was a compendium of utilities.  He was cook,
khansaman, and table-servant rolled into one.  He was careful to explain
that in India he would scorn to serve in more than one capacity, but
"Tempora mutantur," he quoted impressively, "et nos mutamur in illis."

"Rest, sir, is change of occupation," he said, "and when I have
accomplished the culinary part of my functions, I make a lightning
change and become a dumb waiter, remembering the beautiful words of the
blind epic poet, 'They also serve who only stand and wait.'"

With the beginning of the rains came the season for planting.  Mr.
Halliday had brought a variety of seeds with him, for though he hoped to
make money out of stock-raising rather than agriculture, and reckoned on
getting cereals from the neighbouring village for his native and Indian
workers, he was not sure that the villagers would always grow enough to
supply their needs, and he wished also to grow English vegetables and
fruits for his own consumption.  John made a start towards the end of
November with oats and wheat; next month he sowed cabbages, peas,
tomatoes, potatoes and vegetable marrows, and planted a few apple-tree
slips.  In January he put in cabbages and onions, and finished off with
cauliflowers in February.  The great dread of the African cultivator is
drought, but the rains fell almost continuously for three months, so
that there was every prospect of good crops.

The sheep and cattle throve apace.  There was no sign of scab or
heartwater in the former, but they were troubled for a time by the
nostril-fly, a pest that lays its eggs in the nasal passages, causing
intense irritation and sometimes a dangerous fever.  Two or three of the
animals died, but there happening to be a syringe among the things
brought from Nairobi, John made a point every night of thoroughly
washing out the nostrils of the sheep affected, and had the satisfaction
of preventing any more deaths from this cause, though he never succeeded
in banishing the pests.  He felt not a little gratified at pulling one
of the bulls through an attack of pneumonia.  After a little trouble in
inducing the two Masai and Lulu to be scrupulous in washing their hands,
he managed to get the dairy into working order. Each cow yielded about
four pounds of milk a day, some of which he turned into butter, which
his people consumed in enormous quantities. All the spare milk over and
above what was used for food was utilized for making cheese, which was
stored in a deep pit until it could be transported to market at Nairobi.

Being dissatisfied with the grass huts which had originally been erected
by the natives, he set the mistris to build substantial houses of logs
and thatch, and found them both cleaner and healthier.  They cost no
more than L1 apiece.  He also got them to put up a plant-house with
wickerwork sides and thatched roof at a cost of L5.  Finding that the
villagers possessed fowls, he bought a number, and this provided more
work for the carpenters.  They built a large hen-house of wood with an
iron roof, and fenced in a run of about 1000 square feet in area.  With
the prospect of good crops a barn was necessary, and they erected a
wooden building with a floor of about 300 square feet. Having no iron
left, he had to roof this with thatch, resolving to buy more galvanized
roofing on his first visit to Nairobi.

Before all this work was finished some of the vegetables and cereals he
had planted grew to maturity.  Said Mohammed gave him turnips for dinner
in February; next month he had some fine tomatoes and potatoes, and by
the beginning of April the most delicious peas and vegetable marrows he
had ever tasted.  The grain fields, however, suffered a good deal from
the depredations of weaver birds, and after ineffectual attempts to get
rid of these with his rifle and by setting up scarecrows, John resorted
to a poison supplied by his native neighbours--a decoction of a certain
root.  This proved effective.  The wheat was ready for reaping in April,
and he was amused to see the natives cut it with knives, they being
quite unable to handle the scythes Mr. Halliday had brought.  They
threshed it with sticks and winnowed it with hand-sieves.  There was a
small hand-mill among the farm utensils, and by the end of April John
enjoyed the unaccustomed luxury of eating bread baked by Said Mohammed
in an earthen oven.  Only half an acre had been sown with wheat, and as
the yield was 400 lbs. of grain John was thoroughly satisfied.  The oats
were not ripe until July, and the yield was much less than that of the
wheat; but they made good porridge, and John was able to write to his
father that when he returned he could have the national breakfast.

John had heard from Mr. Halliday several times since his departure. The
first letter arrived early in December, and caused him mingled amusement
and vexation.

                                  ----

"Here I am, in Glasgow, flourishing as ever.  Tennant's stack is
behaving even worse than usual, and the atmosphere makes me fair sick
after the air of Kenya.  I had a horrible passage: we were terribly
knocked about in the Bay, and I got a black eye one night through being
pitched out of my bunk and coming into collision with the ledge of the
one below.  There was a teetotal commercial on board (rare bird), who
looked at me very suspiciously at breakfast, and asked me at lunch
whether I drank pot-still or patent.  I asked him which was his line,
and he got so red that I was uncharitable enough to conjecture he drinks
on the sly.

"But here I am, and I think I've made a fool of myself in coming; for
when I called at Wright and MacKellar's they showed me a cable they had
just received from the Cape.  'Halliday's daughter inherits; letter this
mail.'  The death of poor old uncle had of course been announced in the
_Herald_, and that goes everywhere, and sure enough when the mail came
in there was a letter from some lawyer fellows at Cape Town to say that
their client, Mrs. Burtenshaw, nee Sylvia Halliday, having seen the
announcement of her father's death, had made arrangements to return to
Scotland to claim the estate I asked them why the ballachulish they
hadn't waited before they sent for me, and Wright said that if he had
been aware that I had changed my domicile (law for left the country, I
suppose) he would certainly have hesitated before putting me to the
inconvenience (and expense, I put in) of making so long a voyage.  I
asked whether my expenses would come out of the estate, and he said that
he was inclined to believe the trustees would not homologate any claim
for my outgoings.  I'm glad you were not a lawyer, after all.  I was for
starting back at once, but he wouldn't hear of it: said I must wait to
see whether Mrs. Burtenshaw could substantiate her claim; she might be
an impostor, and since the estate is valued at over L100,000 it would be
a pity to be out of the way if I turned out to be the heir after all.
My cousin's name is Sylvia right enough, and I'm convinced the claimant
will prove her bona-fides, but I suppose I must kick my heels until she
turns up.  It's twenty-five years or more since I saw her, and I
shouldn't know her from Lulu, so I can't help to identify her.
Altogether I'm very unhappy.  Tell me how you're getting on.  I am
wearying until I get back, and on thorns in case anything goes wrong.
God bless you!

"P.S.--Don't forget that cabbages and cauliflowers must be transplanted
_about five weeks_ after they are sown."

                                  ----

This was vexing enough, but when the next letter came, saying that Mrs.
Burtenshaw was laid up with bronchitis and would be unable to travel for
some time, John was thoroughly distressed.  He knew how his father would
hate hanging on indefinitely, with nothing to do, and no interests to
keep him in St. Mungo's city.  Mr. Halliday, however, did not remain in
Glasgow.  He went to his old home in the south of England, instructing
Wright and MacKellar to summon him by telegraph when the lady arrived.

As time went on, the stock on the farm was considerably increased by the
arrival of healthy lambs and calves.  John had expected his father to
return before it became necessary to drive the animals to Nairobi for
sale, and he became seriously concerned as to how that was to be done.
Being the only white man on the farm he could not leave it; yet the
animals must be taken to market somehow, for his father was relying on
the proceeds of their sale to replenish his small balance at the bank,
which he had had to draw upon to meet the expenses of his prolonged stay
in England.  John himself was running short of "trade" for the payment
of his native workers from the village, and of ready money for his
immediate dependants, who required hard cash or notes of the East
African currency.  He did not wish to draw on the bank, as his father
had authorized him to do; and he knew that the sums realized by the sale
of the stock would enable him to carry on for a considerable time, and
also to add to the bank surplus, upon which Mr. Halliday might have to
draw at any moment.

There was no one among the hands to whom he could entrust the driving of
the cattle.  Wasama and his boy, no doubt, could do the actual driving,
if they were not plundered on the way; but the presence of a white man
would be almost a _sine qua non_ to prevent molestation on the journey.
Even in the unlikely chance of Wasama getting the beasts safely to
Nairobi he could not be expected to sell them to advantage, and Said
Mohammed, when John spoke of it to him one day, very frankly
acknowledged that the Masai would come off second best in any attempt to
barter with the traders of Nairobi, whether Indian or European.

"You have to be up to snuff, sir," said the Bengali, "in dealing with
gentlemen of business capacity.  Wasama is a very good chap: I have high
opinion of his honesty, et cetera; but honesty is no go in markets
without the possession of considerable acumen, and Wasama has not had
the advantage of gaining that familiarity with the methods of
civilization, which, as the proverb says, breeds contempt," an
unconsciously double-edged remark which did not amuse John.

Of course he might ask the help of Mr. Gillespie, which would no doubt
be very willingly given; but John was very reluctant to let things out
of his own hands, having a full share of Anglo-Saxon independence.  The
matter, at any rate, was not immediately urgent.  Two or three more
months must pass before the young animals were weaned and fit to
undertake the long journey; and John still hoped that by the time the
sale of them became imperative his father would have returned.

It was about six months after Mr. Halliday left that John received the
following letter from him--

"The lady has arrived.  She's a very decent, respectable widow body. She
has brought all her family, two boys and a girl--a pretty creature, the
image of her mother when I first knew her.  The widow produced her birth
certificate and a series of photographs, the first showing her in her
father's arms at about a week old, for all the world as if he were a
royalty displaying the infant to a crowd of grandees.  Wright and
MacKellar are satisfied, which is more than I am, coming all this way on
such a fool's errand.  The widow wanted to repay me the L100 or so I've
wasted, but of course I couldn't hear of that.  I expect to sail next
week.  Glad to hear you're getting on well.

"P.S.--I suppose you haven't seen anything of those young Brownes?  I'd
be a deal happier if I knew you had neighbours."

A week later came a brief note.

"Fate's got a downer on me.  I was fool enough to go for a ride in the
widow's new 40 h.-p. Panhard.  The chauffeur ran us into a dyke; the
rest got bruises, but I survive with a broken leg.  Tony Weller was
right: beware of widders."

Since then no news had come, and John grew anxious, though he reflected
that he would have heard if his father was seriously ill.




CHAPTER THE EIGHTH--Hard Pressed


John spent a good deal of time with Bill the Wanderobbo.  He found it at
first difficult to communicate with him, for the little man knew no
English, nor even Swahili, which John was rapidly picking up, partly
from Coja, and partly from a Swahili grammar and Bible which he had
brought from Mombasa.  He had to employ Wasama as the medium of
intercourse with Bill, the two men speaking in the Masai tongue, and
Wasama translating either into his imperfect English, or into Swahili,
as John became more proficient in it.  Coja told him that the Wanderobbo
have a language of their own, and he tried to get Bill to teach him
that; but the man became reserved and shy whenever the suggestion was
made, and Wasama explained that the Wanderobbo never allowed any
foreigner to hear them speak in their own tongue.  After a time John
managed to converse with Bill about simple matters in a kind of sign
language, in which the Wanderobbo was very quick.  He learnt long
afterwards that the mysterious language of the tribe largely consists of
signs, to such an extent that the people cannot understand one another
in the dark.

One day Bill darkly hinted that though John was very rich, yet he, the
Wanderobbo, was richer.  This was surprising, seeing that to all
appearance he possessed nothing but his hut and weapons.  On being
questioned he at first shyly refused to say more, but by and by said
that he owned a very large store of ivory.

"Where?" asked John.

"In his old home away in the hills," said Wasama, who was interpreting.

"Then why doesn't he sell it and buy himself a good hut and good arms
and make himself comfortable?"

"Because the store is now in the bad man's country, beyond the
mountain."

John had by this time learnt something of the native African's genius
for invention, and treated the Wanderobbo's assertions as sheer romance;
but the old man repeated them again and again, and indeed seemed
sometimes to be brooding over his wrongs, so that John began to believe
that there was some little foundation for his story.  Once Bill said
that if the young master cared to go with him a long journey he would
show him how to hunt elephants, so that he might get ivory for himself.
But it happened that Mr. Halliday had only taken out an ordinary game
licence, costing 150 rupees, not caring to pay an additional 600 rupees
for the full licence which would entitle him to shoot elephants and
rhinoceros and other large game.  Bill was totally unable to understand
the reason of John's refusal, and John felt that the old man in his
secret thoughts set him down as afraid.

But though elephant hunting had to be declined, John was never loth to
go in quest of smaller game when the larder required it.  He never
killed any of his own sheep or cattle for food, but depended on the game
that fell to his rifle--waterbuck, grantei, congoni, and other animals
which were to be found at first within short distances of the farm.
Bill was his constant companion on these expeditions, and proved very
useful, having an instinct for the right localities.  Two or three of
the villagers were usually hired to carry back the game that was shot.

One day the party had gone some five miles to the northward, and the
bearers were cutting up two grantei which John had shot, when a solitary
figure appeared in the far distance.  It was unusual to see a native
travelling alone, but he was approaching so slowly that John did not
think it worth while to await his arrival, and when the cutting up was
finished, he ordered the men to shoulder their burdens.  But taking a
look at the stranger before setting off after his men, John felt sure
that he was making straight towards him across the broken country; and
since he was in the middle of a wide plain, trackless and bare, he
wondered whether the stranger had some definite purpose in so directing
his course.  Letting the bearers go on in advance, he decided to wait
with Bill for the man.

As he came more clearly into view, John perceived that he was moving
very slowly and with manifest difficulty.  When he came up, and John,
who had by this time more than a smattering of Swahili, questioned him,
the man explained that he was a Baganda, and had been sent to seek help
for a safari nearly a day's march to the north-east.  The master of the
safari was a young msungu (white man), and John was able to make out
from what the messenger said that the party was in extreme danger from
"bad men."  The msungu had sent him out at night on the chance of
finding help, but he had not been able to move fast because he was very
weak and hungry.

John was in a quandary.  On the one hand his inclination prompted him to
set off at once to the aid of a fellow white man: on the other hand he
had no force at command which could hope to intervene effectually if the
"bad men" were in considerable numbers.  He was some miles from the
farm, and even if he hurried back he could not raise a strong party.
Coja was the only man on the farm besides himself who could use a rifle,
and John was very doubtful whether he could induce any of the villagers
to leave their own ground on a fighting expedition.  Still, he felt that
something must be done.  He asked the Baganda whether he could use a
rifle, and on being answered in the affirmative, he first gave the man
some food from the little stock he had brought for his own use, and then
bade him wait with the Wanderobbo while he returned to the farm.

On arriving he dispatched Wasama with the news to the nearest government
station, Fort Hall, forty miles to the south-west.  Then he ordered Said
Mohammed to make ready a supply of food, and Coja to saddle three
donkeys, and within a quarter of an hour he was hurrying back over his
tracks, Coja beside him leading the third donkey.  Each had his rifle,
and Coja carried a third for the Baganda.

They found the man where he had been left with Bill, looking much the
better for his meal.  John sent Bill back to the farm, and then, the
Baganda having mounted, the party of three set off to the relief of the
safari.  The route lay first north and then north-west round a steep
hill, which John concluded was one of the foothills of Mount Kenya.  It
was very rough going at times, the messenger having made his way in a
direct line, up hill and down dale, and he had to return over the same
ground lest he should lose the track and go astray.  Fortunately the
donkeys were sure-footed, and only a few stumbles on the sides of
precipitous descents reminded John subsequently that he had taken risks
in his excitement and haste which he would scarcely have faced in cold
blood.  He felt that he could have travelled faster on foot, and the
Baganda was plainly ill at ease on the donkey's back; but not knowing
what might be demanded of him, he had thought it wise to ride so as to
husband his strength.  They saw no signs of habitation: indeed, the
whole of the region through which they passed was a wilderness, owing,
as was learnt afterwards, to Masai raids in a not remote past.

It was close upon nightfall when, on topping a rise, they came in sight
of the spot where, as the Baganda said, his master was beset by the bad
men.  It appeared to be about three miles off.  The actual place could
not be seen, owing to intervening patches of woodland, but on proceeding
a little farther, the guide pointed out a dark shape on the plain which
he said was a camp of bad men, and some distance beyond it John was able
to descry the boma within which the white man had entrenched himself.

On the way he had succeeded in getting a few more details from the
Baganda, by the interpreting aid of Coja.  It appeared that two wasungu
had been making a sporting expedition from northern Uganda by way of
Lake Rudolf to the Kenya district.  The elder msungu had been seized
with swamp fever in the neighbourhood of the lake, but had pushed on
southward instead of resting, with the result that he became worse and
worse and at last died near Mount Sil, eighty miles north of Mount
Kenya.  The safari had already found the tribes through which it had
passed somewhat troublesome, and as after the bwana's death it travelled
southward, it came into a region where the people were openly hostile,
and hung on its skirts, watching for any opportunity of taking it at a
disadvantage.  The party had, however, got safely to the Waso Nyiro
river, which they had crossed a week ago; but then they had been
attacked one night by a tribe of Embe, one of the fiercest and most
quarrelsome of East African peoples.  Some of the porters were killed,
others deserted, and the young msungu himself was wounded.  The attack
had been beaten off, and the boma round the camp had been strengthened,
and when the messenger left they were holding out against a much larger
body of natives and in dire straits because their food was running
short.

The safari consisted of forty men, with only ten rifles among them. John
tried to ascertain how many the assailants numbered, but the Baganda
could only speak vaguely of a very great host.  Moving forward
cautiously so as not to be seen by the enemy, John soon perceived a
second camp on the further side of the boma: it was plain that the
savages were subjecting the camp to a strict investment, knowing that,
even if they could not break in, want of food would soon compel the
beleaguered to surrender.  But while it was clearly impossible for the
white man's party to make any movement as a body without discovery, it
did not appear to John that the blockade was so close as to prevent
individuals from entering or leaving the camp under cover of night;
indeed, the Baganda had slipped out in the darkness and escaped
detection.  John therefore asked him whether he was willing to make an
attempt to get in during the coming night, and tell his master that help
was coming.  The man said that he thought he could pass the enemy
safely, but he would certainly be shot at from the msungu's camp if his
approach was heard, and that was a risk he did not care to run.  With
some persuasion and the promise of a handsome present John induced the
messenger to try his luck, instructing him to make a big fire if he got
in safely, or if that was impossible through lack of fuel, to ask his
master to fire two shots in rapid succession.  John would then endeavour
to enter the camp.  He did not suppose, of course, that a reinforcement
of two would enable the besieged party to turn the tables on the
besiegers, but he hoped that his presence would be taken as an earnest
of help to come from Fort Hall, and would at least encourage the men to
hold out.

The three waited until darkness covered the ground, having meanwhile
tethered the animals.  Then the Baganda set off on foot just after seven
o'clock with a small bundle of food strapped to his back so as not to
encumber his movements.  The minutes passed slowly; there was no sign
from the encampment; and after what seemed hours John ventured to strike
a match under cover of the bush and look at his watch.  It was only
eight.  But there had been time enough for the Baganda to have reached
the encampment, and John wondered what had happened to him.  He did not
think he had been captured, for that would have been announced by a
shout or a shot.  Only a few minutes after he had looked at his watch
there was a sudden bright glare in the direction of the encampment: one
flash and then darkness.  This was followed by a confused murmur of
voices, and then by several irregular shots.  At the same time two fires
were lighted, one on the north and the other on the south of the
encampment--a clear sign that the besiegers meant to hold their ground
during the night, the fires having been kindled to keep off wild beasts.
John guessed that the white man within the boma had adopted the flare as
a better signal than the one he had suggested; undoubtedly the Baganda
had reached the camp in safety.

The problem now was to follow him without being detected.  The flare had
shown John the exact direction in which he should go; but it had also
put the besiegers on the alert, though it was unlikely that they had any
suspicion at present of the meaning of the light.  Luckily no fire had
been kindled on the west side of the camp, on which there was no gate,
and as the night was pitch dark, John hoped with care to escape the
notice of the savages.  Leaving the animals tethered, he crept forward
with Coja, a little nervous lest he should stumble upon some obstruction
or go astray in the darkness.  The plain was covered with grass up to
his knees, and here and there clumps of mimosa.  As the two crept
forward the sky in front of them was momentarily lit up by another
flare.  "He's got his wits about him, whoever he is," thought John.
Again he heard shots, but he could not tell whether they were fired
within or without the boma.  The Baganda had not reported that the
besiegers had rifles: one or two of them, he said, had very old guns;
but the shots were evidently those of rifles, and John wondered whether
the besiegers had been reinforced during the day.

The two men, making slow progress, and guided by the flares which were
shown at intervals, drew gradually nearer to the camp.  Suddenly a flash
showed them a clump of bush between them and the boma, which John
guessed to be now about a hundred and fifty yards distant.  They lay
flat in the grass until the flare had died down, then crept to the edge
of the bush, John hoping to find a speedy opportunity of making a dash
for the camp.  Just as they reached the clump Coja stumbled over his
rifle, making a slight rustle among the grass.  Instantly there was a
low call, apparently from the other side of the bush.  A man was on the
watch there.  "Speak to him," John whispered to Coja, who whispered back
that he did not know what tribe the man belonged to, and to speak might
be dangerous.  John felt that the critical moment was come.  He dared
not retreat: that would arouse suspicion: nor durst he stay inertly
where he was, for the man might come towards them.  Yet to attempt to
dash past him across the open would be to risk a shot or a spear at such
close range that the chance of escape would be small, for though the
night was dark, there was enough glimmer from the stars to enable an
alert enemy to take aim, besides a reflected glow from the camp fires.
He made up his mind instantly to venture on a bold course. Whispering to
Coja to follow him closely, he wriggled as quietly as possible through
the bush, and came upon a man sitting on his haunches with a rifle or
musket across his knees, watching the boma.  He half turned his head as
he heard the slight rustle of John's approach, but did not rise.
Dropping his rifle, John gathered himself together and sprang full upon
the man, throwing his left arm round his neck in a strangling embrace.
Before the captive could utter more than a gurgle, John's handkerchief
was stuffed into his mouth.  Then in a swift whisper, while he still
held the savage firmly, John ordered Coja to take the man's weapon and
creep towards the boma.  Giving him a minute's start, John suddenly
flung the man from him, seized his own rifle, and sprinted across the
open, overtaking Coja just as he reached the fence.  At the same moment
a shout was raised from the rear: the sentry had apparently been too
much dazed to give the alarm before. Calling in Swahili and English to
warn the garrison of their presence, John and Coja stood at the boma,
looking vainly for a place to enter. There was an answering shout of
"This way!"  They ran towards it, and after stumbling for a few seconds,
came to a narrow gap.  John felt his hand grasped and was lugged into
the enclosure: Coja followed him; and they were barely inside when a
spattering volley of bullets tore through the thorn defences.

"You did that jolly well," said a pleasant voice, and John was shaking
hands with a young man of about his own height.  "Come and have a talk
in my blockhouse."




CHAPTER THE NINTH--A Rearguard Fight


The stranger led the way to the centre of the enclosure.

"Here's my blockhouse," he said.  "We've piled up the baggage, you see.
I say, you're a trump, you know.  Are any more coming up?"

"I sent word to Fort Hall, but that's seventy miles from here, and we
can't expect help for two or three days."

"That's bad.  We've been on short rations for a week and haven't got a
single full meal left.  My men are as weak as rats, and I've had a knock
myself, as you see"--his right arm was in a sling--"so that if those
fellows outside pluck up their courage to make a rush I'm afraid we
shall be done for."

"Not a bit of it," said John cheerfully.  "How did you get hurt?"

"An arrow made a gash in my forearm.  I was in a bit of a funk at first;
my men said it was sure to be poisoned.  But I'm all right so far: had
some antiseptic lotion, and the wound seems to be healing.  My man told
you how we got into this mess, didn't he?  We've had an awful time of
it; for six weeks on end had to fight and dodge these ruffians; and my
poor father----"

"Yes, I'm very sorry," said John, as the other stopped.

"What I can't make out," went on the young man presently, "is why these
fellows haven't rushed our boma.  They were reinforced yesterday by six
or eight men with rifles, Swahilis, too, to judge by their dress, and as
I've only sixteen men left out of the forty we started with, and only
five have rifles (four deserted with rifles yesterday), we couldn't have
held out for an hour.  There's a couple of hundred of them, I guess, and
a dozen or more have got rifles or else smooth-bore muskets, and those
at close quarters are just as dangerous as rifles, as we know to our
cost."

He did not say, but John learnt afterwards, that it was probably his own
fearlessness and activity which had daunted the besiegers.  He had had
to get assistance in loading his rifle, and could only fire from the
left shoulder; but as sure as one of the enemy showed himself within
range he became a target, and several had been accounted for during the
past few days.  Having no doubt been informed by the deserters from his
safari, however, that provisions had run short, the besiegers were quite
content to play a waiting game.

"What do you think we can do?" asked the stranger.

John said nothing for a few moments: he was thinking hard.

"I wish I could see your face," went on the other.  "It's rather odd,
this--two fellows who don't know each other talking in the dark.  I
don't even know your name."

"Halliday," said John, adding with a laugh, as he struck a match; "take
a good look while the light lasts."

By the feeble light each saw a clean-shaven face burnt almost the colour
of copper by the sun.

"You aren't a bad-looking chap, and my name's Ferrier," said the
stranger.  "Can we do anything, do you think?"

A listener might have smiled at the quick transition from banter to
serious business.  During the brief illumination, John had observed, how
thin and worn Ferrier looked, and it seemed to help him to make up his
mind.

"Well," he said, "it's risky, but I vote we make a bolt for it."

"Now?" asked Ferrier quietly.

"No, but you'll do it, I can see.  You don't say, 'How can we?'  You
see, we can't expect help for two days at the least, and it may be much
more.  You look worn out as it is, and another day without proper food
might do for you.  But we can save time by fighting our way southward,
though it'll be a pretty risky business, as I said.  The best time to
clear out will be just about dawn; the fellows outside will be dead
tired with watching and won't expect any movement then.  With luck we
may get a mile or two away before they find out we've gone."

"Why not start in the dark?"

"Safer not, I think.  We could easily be rushed in the darkness, and any
damage we might do among them wouldn't have half the moral effect it
would have in the light, because they couldn't see it.  Now give me an
idea how the land lies round this place: I only saw it from the side I
came in at."

"Well, there's bush pretty well all round, but the ground's clearest on
the east side.  There's a gap in the bush there which would be the best
road."

"We'll make for that, then.  But look here, you're dead tired, and
you'll want all your strength to-morrow.  Get a sleep: I'll see to
everything and wake you when the times comes.  What are your men, by the
way?  Swahilis?"

"No, most of them are Bantus of one sort or another.  I've got one
Swahili; he's headman; and two or three Wakikuyu, strapping fellows who
can shoot."

"That's all right, then.  Now go to sleep like a good chap, and don't
worry."

It was so long since Ferrier had enjoyed a good night's rest that he
thankfully availed himself of the presence of a white man capable of
taking command.  John immediately set about his preparations for the
sortie.  He ordered the porters to make their loads ready as quickly as
possible, discarding everything that was heavy or cumbersome and likely
to impede rapidity of movement.  Thinking over the position, he decided
that the best plan would be to issue from the boma on the east side as
if to pass through the gap.  This movement, if detected, would probably
draw the enemy to both sides of the gap, where they would wait in the
bush, thinking they had the safari ambushed.  But before reaching the
gap he proposed to turn sharp off to the right, seizing a tongue of
woodland jutting southward which he had noticed from his post of
observation in the wood.  Beyond that he could not make any plans, but
must trust to the inspiration of the moment and the nature of the
ground.

All preparations being made, John told the men to sleep.  He would keep
watch until the moment for departure came.  He walked round the
enclosure to make sure that no ammunition or anything else of value had
been left, inspected the spot where the boma had been cut to allow the
egress of the party, and then sat down on the tent, which it had been
decided to leave behind.

Shortly before six o'clock he woke Ferrier, and Coja woke the men, who
shouldered their loads, and the whole party moved silently across the
enclosure.  Some of the men removed the piece of the boma which had been
previously loosened, and John led the way out.  There was a slight mist
over the ground, which favoured the escape.  They had covered about two
hundred yards in safety when there was a loud shout from both the camps
of the enemy, proving that a determined watch had been kept, and that
their departure had been discovered.  A few shots were fired, and John
caught sight of two or three black figures darting among the trees of
the wooded tongue towards which he intended to march; but the absence of
a general rush seemed to show that his anticipation was being justified,
and that the enemy were swarming from their camps to the two sides of
the gap.  John threw himself down on a knoll and sent two or three shots
into the woodland to check any movement of the enemy to station
themselves there, which would be fatal to his plan.  The result of his
firing was that the men who had been scouting there rushed away to join
their comrades in the bush skirting the gap.

Now that the party was fairly out, John asked Ferrier to take the lead,
while he brought up the rear with Coja.  Ferrier at first demurred to
this arrangement, protesting that the greatest danger would lie in the
rear, and he didn't see why he should not share in it.

"You shut up," said John, with friendly brusqueness.  "We haven't time
to argue.  We can settle that afterwards.  Don't go above a walking
pace: if they think we are bunking they will make a rush for us, and we
must avoid that at all costs.  On you go: wheel to the right when you
come opposite the end of the wood."

Ferrier obediently went on with the unarmed porters and his six men who
had rifles, including the one captured from the sentry, John and Coja
marching behind with the man who acted as messenger, turning every now
and then to guard against a rush, and not hurrying their pace though
shots were dropping at unpleasantly close quarters.  There were loud
shouts from the enemy lining both sides of the gap when they saw the
safari suddenly sweep round to the right towards the spur of woodland.
Several men on the northern side at once broke cover and began to rush
across the gap.  John saw that the best service he could do was to hold
this portion of the enemy's force in check until the woodland was
reached, and so reduce their striking strength.  The question was, could
he and Coja and the one other man with him make things so hot for any of
the enemy who tried to cross the gap that they would hesitate until it
was too late?  Another question which he dared not think about was
whether the men with Ferrier would be steady enough to meet the attack
from the southern portion of the enemy, which they could hardly escape.
Telling Coja and the Baganda to shoot steadily, he took aim from behind
a bush at the first man who crossed the gap, and dropped him.  Coja
aimed at the man immediately behind, but missed.  A second shot from
John, however, brought him down, and his companions, firing into the
midst of a group of half-a-dozen who were following their leaders, gave
a shout of delight when they saw two other men fall, and the rest
immediately turn tail and scamper at full speed back to cover.

"Come on," cried John.

Leaving the bush from behind which he had fired, he ran towards another
which would give still better cover and was at the same time slightly
nearer the enemy.  The distance was about thirty yards, and several
shots were fired at them as they sprinted across.  John felt a bullet
slap through his helmet, but no other hit was made, and they reached the
second bush safely.  It afforded excellent cover against the enemy on
the north side of the gap, but would have been useless against any that
remained on the south side.  These, however, had left their positions in
order to deal with the safari making for the woodland, since it was
plain to them that they would be at an immense disadvantage in the more
open bush if the copse were once gained. Indeed, if they had had the
courage and the quickness of perception to seize and hold this spur of
woodland, the fate of the safari would almost certainly have been
sealed.

John, for the moment left unmolested, had time to look round, and saw
with delight that Ferrier and his men had disappeared among the trees.
But at the same time he realized that the enemy who had tried
ineffectually to head them off from the woodland were now free to attack
him, and there was a danger that he might be surrounded.  The northern
end of the woodland was about a hundred yards from the bush at which he
had stationed himself, and there was no time to be lost if he was to get
out of harm's way.  It was a straight run across the open. From his
experience of negroes' shooting he did not fear that a flying shot would
hit him except by accident; the only question was whether all three
could rush across the open space before they were intercepted by the
other section of the enemy.

Since delay was dangerous he ordered the men to follow him at full
speed, and made a dash for the woodland.  A few shots were fired at
them, but luckily the movement had not been seen by the men he had most
reason to fear, and by the time they were warned of it by the shouts of
their comrades beyond the gap the three runners were safe among the
trees.  John felt that in the shelter of the wood the party might hold
out all day against an enemy who was so reluctant to come to close
quarters; but to be beleaguered in the wood would be no better than
their situation within the boma, and it was necessary to press on to the
south, both with the idea of lessening the distance between the safari
and the force of East African rifles or Protectorate Police which he
hoped was on the way from Fort Hall, and also of obtaining food.  It was
not easy to see how the party could cross in safety the open country
south of the wood, and John felt the necessity of consulting with
Ferrier.  Accordingly he hastened on towards him.

Soon he came upon Ferrier's askaris, who informed him that their master,
having reached the extremity of the wood, had sent them back to assist
him.  Ordering them to remain with Coja where they were and keep the
enemy in check if they showed any sign of advancing, he hurried on until
he reached Ferrier.  After explaining how matters stood, he suggested
that Ferrier with the porters should hasten with all speed across the
open country until they reached the clump of trees in which he had left
his donkeys, about two miles away.  The enemy would scarcely suspect
that the party would emerge from the wood into the open, and he felt
pretty sure that, reinforced by the rifles, he could keep them in play
until the safari had reached its goal.  The course proposed was favoured
by the fact that the safari, by striking off in a south-westerly
direction, would soon be out of sight owing to the undulating ground.
Ferrier agreed to this plan, and John hurried back to the men.

Nothing had happened during his absence.  The enemy on the north side of
the gap had not yet plucked up courage to cross, and the rest were
apparently still lurking in the bush to the east of the stretch of
woodland.  John led his men back to the southern end of this, where he
halted to watch the progress of the safari, and to assure himself that
its escape had not been noticed.

From this position he saw, a quarter of a mile to the right, a mound
which would form an excellent defensive position in case he was
seriously attacked, and he determined to betake himself thither as soon
as the safari was out of sight.  After waiting for a few minutes he saw
the enemy, who had no doubt become suspicious, at last swarm from the
further side of the gap and join their comrades.  The combined force,
emboldened by numbers, emerged from the bush, and appeared to be
intending to make a dash upon the wood.  John waited until they had come
within two hundred yards, and then gave the word to his men to fire a
volley.  The effect was instantaneous.  Several of the enemy fell; the
rest made all speed back under cover.  Taking advantage of the repulse,
John ordered three of the men to rush to the mound, and as soon as they
had reached it, he followed them with the rest.  The movement was seen
by the enemy, who, knowing now that the safari must have escaped them,
and probably suspecting that it had already taken refuge on the other
side of the mound, were at last impelled by their rage to make a
determined rush to the spot.  John and his men were, however, so well
ensconced that their fire checked the advance, and the assailants, once
more baffled, fled back either into the wood or to their former position
in the bush.  Twice they repeated the assault: each time they were
driven back; and though they came closer each time, and sent a shower of
arrows and bullets on to the mound, they were utterly unable to make an
impression, the little party of riflemen lying flat on their faces at
the top of the reverse slope, so that only their heads were exposed.
During the last rush, however, Coja, who was vastly excited at this
fight against odds, incautiously raised himself, and received a bullet
in the shoulder.  John was a good deal concerned: the mere shock of such
an injury would have rendered a European helpless; but the African is
not so highly strung, and Coja went on all day with admirable fortitude.

John chose the moment when an assault had just been repelled to evacuate
the mound, and keeping it between him and the enemy, to strike off to
the south-west, intending to make a circuit and rejoin Ferrier at the
clump of trees.  He had marched for more than half a mile before the
meaning of the movement became plain to the enemy.  Seeing the little
party now in the open, with no cover of any kind, the men set off with
loud cries to intercept them before they reached the clump of trees
which was the only shelter for miles.  It was a race between the two
parties.  John was north-west of the clump, the enemy due north, and
equidistant from it.  Ferrier, who had reached the spot some time
before, and was watching eagerly his new friend's manoeuvres, fired an
occasional shot at the savages as soon as they came within range, but
his single rifle was unable to check the advance.  It was fortunate that
John had somewhat easier ground than the enemy, sloping gently down to
the clump of trees.  He ran as he had never run since he won the
quarter-mile in his school sports, and the negroes kept pace with him,
in the fierce heat of the sun.  Ferrier saw that he was gaining on the
enemy, and shouted to encourage him.  Another two hundred yards and he
would be safe.  On he came: now he was several yards ahead of his men,
then they spurted and came up with him: and in another fifteen seconds
the whole party gained the wood, the enemy being no more than a hundred
yards away.

Ferrier sent a shot among them which brought them to a halt.  Even now
they might have overwhelmed the little party, for John and the men were
hot and breathless, and their limbs trembled so violently that for some
seconds they were unable to hold their rifles steadily.  But Ferrier's
shot gave them the breathing-space they needed.  Then all the rifles
spoke together.  A gap was made in the halted throng of negroes; there
was a moment's hesitation; then with furious yells of rage and
disappointment they turned their backs upon the clump of trees, and ran
swiftly towards the distant bush.

That was the last that was seen of them.  John and the riflemen held the
wooded clump while the safari, taking the donkeys, pressed on to the
south.  Then, when all danger of pursuit seemed at an end, he followed
in its track and overtook it within two hours.  No pursuers being in
sight, he thought it safe to make a long halt for rest and food, both
badly needed by the whole party, and especially by Ferrier and his men.
Ferrier blessed John's forethought in bringing a quantity of food on the
donkeys.  It was only sufficient for one meal, and that not a very good
one; but a little is a feast to men who are famishing, and there was
great contentment among the negroes as they baked little millet cakes at
their fires.  When the march was resumed, John shot a wart-hog during
the afternoon, which he allowed the men to cook and eat there and then.
They camped for the rest of the day, building a thorn zariba and keeping
a careful watch all night.  Early in the morning they went on again, and
passing through the friendly village and across the river, they came at
midday to the farm.  John at once sent Ferrier's headman towards Fort
Hall to say that there was no longer any need of help.  Then he
committed the negroes to the care of Lulu, doctored Coja's wounded
shoulder as well as he could, and asked Said Mohammed to use all his
skill in preparing dinner for his guest.

"Your esteemed order shall be punctually attended to," said the Bengali.
"The honourable gentleman shall smack his lips and feel jolly well
bucked up.  I will do him tiptop."




CHAPTER THE TENTH--Driving Sheep to Market


"I say, Halliday, you're in clover here," said Ferrier, as the two sat
smoking in the bungalow after Said Mohammed had made their hearts glad
with a capital dinner.  "My grandfather made his pile ranching in
Manitoba, and you'll do the same here."

John laughed.  "We're not paying our way at present," he said, "and I
know my father grudged the money for his passage home again so soon.
He'll grudge it still more now that his journey has turned out useless,
and there are doctors' bills to pay in the bargain."

The two young men had exchanged confidences during the latter part of
their march to the farm.  Charles Ferrier's father had been called to
the Canadian bar, but he had never practised, his fortune being
sufficient to keep him and his family in something more than comfort,
and to pay for the sporting expeditions which were his real interest in
life.  Charles, who was twenty years old, had just come down from the
McGill university, and his father had brought him to East Africa to
"give him a run," as he put it, before he settled down to work.

"And his ambition for me was that I should enter the Canadian
legislature," said he, with a wry face.  "It's not work much after my
mind; I'd prefer ranching like my grandfather.  Poor father!  D'you
think I ought to stick to his notion now that he's gone?"

"I think every man should follow his own bent," said John.  "The
mischief is we mayn't know till it's too late what our bent is.  For
instance, I like this life out here, but I don't know I'll succeed at
it, and some day I may eat my heart out because I didn't take up law, as
my father wished.  He's a good sort, and didn't urge it.  Well,
khansaman, what is it?" he asked, as Said Mohammed entered.

"Entreating your pardon, sir, Coja has made a discovery and is in an
excessive state of amazement, jolly well flabbergasted, as it were.  He
declares that when you went on donkeys to visit the honourable gent you
took three rifles marked with initials D.H., but lo! when he examines
the weapons brought back, he finds four.  Q.E.D."

"That's rum, certainly," said John.  "How did one of our rifles get into
the hands of your men, Ferrier?  We took three, as Coja says. Your
messenger had one."

"I don't know.  Wait a bit, though: didn't you bring three rifles into
camp?  Of course: you took one from the man you half throttled outside
our boma.  But how could that be marked with your initials?"

"Tell Coja to bring it here, khansaman," said John.  "I've a suspicion,
Ferrier; we'll soon prove it."

When Coja brought the rifle, John examined it carefully.  It was a
Snider.

"It's as I thought, Ferrier," he said.  "This is one of the rifles run
off with by those porters of ours--the sweeps!  I don't like the look of
it.  Looks as though they've started an organized band of freebooters.
We shall have to report this at Fort Hall or Nairobi; perhaps you'll do
that.  I suppose you'll be off to-morrow to get that arm of yours
properly attended to."

"That's all right.  It's beginning to heal, rather slowly though, and if
you can put up with me for a few days I'd like to stay here.  Food and
rest is what I want more than doctors.  Besides, if your deserters have
joined that pack of savages they may make a raid on you, and I'll be of
some use, even left-handed."

"No, sah," said Coja, "bad man no come all dis way.  Juma and dem
debbils, oh yes! but not de Embe, oh no! dey never live for come long
way."

"Coja's right, Ferrier," said John.  "By all accounts no natives will go
raiding more than twenty miles from their village, except the Masai, and
we haven't to deal with them.  Juma and his Swahilis might come if they
dared, but they won't venture without support.  That'll do, Coja. How's
your shoulder, by the way?"

"Jolly fine, sah.  Bill him give me stuff to put on, berry good magic."

"There you are, Ferrier," cried John, laughing.  "We've got a doctor on
the spot.  Bill is a Wanderobbo we've made friends with, a little old
man who lives by himself and tells fairy-tales about a wonderful store
of ivory belonging to him in an enemy's country.  He's by way of being a
herbalist, too, it appears.  We'll have a look at his 'berry good magic'
by and by."

The magic turned out to be a decoction of herbs which Bill had smeared
on Coja's wound, binding it up with leaves.  He begged the new msungu to
make a trial of it, and Ferrier after some hesitation consented. His
wound healed more rapidly after the application, and Bill was delighted
with the present of a few cents--without doubt the first doctor's fee he
had ever earned.

Ferrier remained for the present at the farm, his healthy constitution
soon reasserting itself after the strain of his recent experiences. His
father's death had left him his own master.  He had an only sister
living with an aunt at Toronto, and he wrote to her and to the family
lawyers, relating what had happened, but saying nothing of his
intentions.  The letters were entrusted to his porters, whom he
dismissed with the exception of three.  On reaching Nairobi, the men
would take the train to Kisumu, and reach their homes in Uganda by
steamer across the Victoria Nyanza.

It was more than a month since John had heard from his father.  A few
days after Ferrier's arrival he received a note which made him very
angry.

"I'm on the mend.  Doctor says my leg couldn't have healed better if I
were ten years younger.  Cousin Sylvia has been very good.  Insists on
making reparation for the damage (financial and physical) she has done
me.  'Twas _her_ chauffeur, and _her_ motor-car, and so on.  Upshot is
that as you're getting on so well I'm inclined to accept her invitation
of a run through the Continent.  Will let you know when I sail.  Cousin
Sylvia sends her love.

"P.S. Glad to hear you got the lambing over well.  Be sure and _don't
wean them too soon_."

This apparently innocent note made John furious.

"You see what it is!" he cried, striding up and down the room.  "That
woman's got hold of him, and she'll marry him, and all our plans will be
spoilt by an old--old--I don't know what to call her.  Sends her love,
indeed!"

Seeing that John was in a passion, Ferrier wisely said nothing, and the
storm presently blew over.

The presence of Ferrier at the farm solved John's difficulty about the
sheep and calves.  He had rather more than 800 lambs altogether, of
which 450 rams were for sale, and might be expected to fetch about L90.
He had also fifteen calves, which might realize L1 each, and the L105
thus gained would relieve his present anxieties and go far towards
defraying the second year's expenses.  In addition to these, there was a
considerable weight of cheese to be taken to market.  He had become so
chummy with Ferrier that he did not hesitate to mention to him the
difficulty about transporting the animals.

"There's no difficulty at all," said the Canadian at once.  "Take them
yourself.  I'll stay here while you are gone.  A rest will do me all the
good in the world.  You must certainly leave a white man in charge, and
I've come in the nick of time."

"It's jolly of you," said John.  "I'd accept your offer in a moment if
it weren't for those blackguards who stole our rifles.  It would be hard
lines on you if they came and attacked you while I was away."

"They won't do it.  You told me yourself that you'd sent Bill out to see
if he could discover their whereabouts, and he didn't hear anything of
them.  Besides, if they do come we can defend ourselves.  They didn't
show any eagerness to come to very close quarters with us, and I don't
doubt for a moment that with my men and yours--I suppose the Indians can
handle a rifle on occasion?--we could beat them off."

"Very well, then: I'll chance it.  I'll take Wasama and three men from
the village: his boy can look after the cattle here.  I shall have to
hire another Masai to help when I get back: there's too much work for
two now.  You'll find Bill a great help; I wish he would come and live
here, but he's an independent old boy and won't leave his little hut in
the wood."

"Hadn't you better take him with you?  Four men won't be enough for the
job.  You must carry food and a tent, you know."

"I didn't mean to take a tent.  Why not camp in the open?"

"You'd be rather sorry if it happened to rain."

"But the rains aren't due for another month," objected John, looking at
his almanac.

"I dare say not, but they may start a bit earlier, and if you think
you're going to get all those beasts to Nairobi in a week, or even two,
you're mistaken.  Remember the streams to cross and the thorn bush to
get through.  And you'll have to put a boma round the whole lot every
night, and that will be a long job with so few men.  You'll need twenty
at the very least, my boy, so make up your mind for it.  Ask Wasama."

John had in fact felt some misgiving lest the party he proposed to take
should not be strong enough to guard the animals against wild beasts, or
natives who chanced to be hostile or predatory; but he was so anxious to
economize that he had stilled his doubts.  When Wasama backed up
Ferrier's point, he yielded to the inevitable, and engaged fifteen more
men in the village.  Ferrier insisted on his taking the three Uganda men
he had retained out of his safari, because they were not only trained
porters, but very fair shots.  John wished he had a horse to ride, or at
least a mule, not caring about donkey-rides: but Ferrier chaffed him on
his singular regard for appearances, and he decided at last to mount the
best of the donkeys.

One fine September day the safari set off, numbering twenty in all. Coja
was very much depressed at not being able to accompany his master, but
his wound was not yet sufficiently healed.  The start was watched by the
whole community, and as John rode off in the rear of the caravan he felt
sure he heard Said Mohammed's high-pitched voice quote, "The lowing herd
winds slowly o'er the lea," and proceed to a recitation of the Elegy.

John had had an inkling of the difficulties of droving, but the reality
turned out to be immeasurably worse than the anticipation.  The animals,
being young, could not be driven hard; their pace at the best was two
miles an hour, and often less than one, and as frequent halts were
necessary, the longest day's march did not exceed eight miles. The
obstacles which had given only amusement or excitement on the journey
from Nairobi caused exasperation now.  There were many streams to cross,
and it was often difficult to induce the sheep to face them. Sometimes
they were almost invisible in the long grass, and when they came among
thorny bush, the men had to use their knives freely in hacking a path
for the beasts, causing hours of delay.  For the first week all went
fairly well.  The bleating of the sheep attracted hyenas, but by dint of
great vigilance and activity they were kept off, and only two sheep were
seized.  In crossing one stream Wasama had a narrow escape from the jaws
of a crocodile; but the water in most ran so low after the dry season
that it was easy to examine the beds and avoid danger of this kind.

On the eighth night, however, John was awakened by the pattering of rain
on his tent.  It poured in torrents, and when he got up in the morning
he found half-a-dozen sheep stretched lifeless on the sodden earth.  It
was still raining at the usual time for starting, and the animals could
not be induced to move, but turned their backs to the wind and huddled
together in a compact mass.  The weather cleared about ten o'clock, and
then a start was made; but the safari had only been an hour on the road
when another downpour checked them.  So it continued all day--drenching
rain, with brief intervals of sunshine.  John persevered, taking
advantage of every bright period to move on a little farther; but when
the rain finally ceased in the evening he found that during the whole
laborious day he had not covered more than about three miles.  Some of
the sheep had lagged terribly, and it was quite dark when the last of
them came into camp, and before they could all be got within the boma a
couple of hyenas sprang among them out of the surrounding bush and
killed several.

This was only the beginning of trouble.  It rained nearly every night,
and every night some of the sheep died.  The streams were much swollen
and flowed so swiftly that it was only with the utmost difficulty that
the men prevented the animals from being washed away.  One river took
two hours to cross, each individual animal having to be passed over from
hand to hand.  At another the current was so rapid that it seemed
hopeless to attempt to cross it at all, until John, with a good deal of
risk, managed to swim over slantwise with a rope, which he fastened to a
tree on the further bank.  With the help of this, every man and beast
was got across safely, but with such an expenditure of labour that all
were thoroughly exhausted.  That night, to add to John's misfortunes,
his donkey was killed by a hyena, and he was in a state of miserable
depression when he started to resume his journey.

The one satisfactory feature of the march was that the natives met _en
route_ had been friendly.  The food was exhausted when the safari had
been ten days on the road, but they had no difficulty in purchasing
muhindi or cassava at the villages.  John's rifle provided all necessary
meat, and at one stream he shot a crocodile, the flesh of which was
highly prized by his men.  But the very friendliness of the people
became a source of anxiety.  They offered their services in helping to
drive the animals, and at the end of a day when they had apparently been
very useful, John found that six sheep had mysteriously disappeared.  He
blamed Wasama for not warning him of the thievish propensities of the
volunteer drovers, much to the surprise of the Masai, who said he
thought everybody knew that a man would take what he could get if he had
the chance.  After that, John refused all assistance, however generously
it was pressed upon him, and kept a sharp eye on the natives who hung
about the flanks of the safari.  With all his vigilance he lost a dozen
more sheep and a fine bull calf by theft, and he began despairingly to
wonder whether he would have any animals left by the time he arrived in
Nairobi.

But everything comes to an end.  One day, nearly four weeks after
leaving the farm, he caught sight of the chimney-stack of the Nairobi
locomotive works in the distance.  Five hours later he trudged wearily
into the town, conscious that he presented a deplorable and disreputable
appearance.  His clothes were torn and dirty; the sole of his right boot
had parted from the upper and flapped as he walked, while that of the
left boot had gone altogether, and he trod on his sock.  He felt
thoroughly knocked up, and after he had seen his animals safely penned,
he could hardly drag himself to Mr. Gillespie's house. To his surprise
nobody in the streets seemed to pay the least attention to his
appearance; he supposed that such sights were not uncommon; and Mr.
Gillespie did not start back with the look of horror which in his
self-consciousness John had expected.  The coffee-planter greeted him
warmly, but had no sooner taken him to his room than he whipped out a
clinical thermometer and stuck it into John's mouth.

"Thought so," he said, when he examined it.  "You've a touch of fever,
and no wonder.  You'll go straight to bed, my boy.  We'll have a talk in
the morning."

After a hot bath, John was tucked up between the blankets and dosed with
quinine by Mrs. Gillespie, and he fell asleep with a happiness and a
sense of security to which he seemed to have been a stranger for years.

He was better in the morning, but Mr. Gillespie would not allow him to
quit his bed.

"You just leave it to me," he said when John protested that he must see
about selling his animals.  "I'll go and take a look at them.  You won't
sell them for a day or two: they'll be all the better for a rest. I've
just heard from your father, by the way.  He's a gay old dog, upon my
word, gadding about on the Continent.  You must have written glowing
accounts of the farm, or he'd have been back before this.  I dare say
there's a letter for you by the same mail: you'll find it when you get
back.  And how do you like ranching, eh?"

They had a long talk, and Mr. Gillespie said he thought he had done very
well for the first year.  He laughed when John related the incidents of
his march.

"You'll get used to it," he said.  "It's rather disheartening at first,
but you may think yourself lucky the natives didn't bother you.  When I
first came out here ten years ago I had a running fight with one of the
tribes for a week, and lost practically everything I possessed.  Things
are safer now."

John told him about the desertion of Juma with the rifles, and the
plight from which he had rescued Ferrier.

"That's unpleasant," said Mr. Gillespie.  "If you take my advice you'll
go back by way of Fort Hall and report to the District Commissioner. He
may be disposed to send a company of the Protectorate police to deal
with the ruffians.  I'm afraid it's not a big enough job for the King's
African Rifles.  Probably they won't trouble you again, however.  Their
ammunition will soon be exhausted, and they can't get any more."

John remained in Nairobi for a week.  He found that he had lost
fifty-two sheep and one calf, besides his donkey; but Mr. Gillespie said
that the animals were a healthy lot, and handed over 1500 rupees as the
proceeds of the sale.  The cheese fetched 100 rupees.  John banked the
greater part of the money, keeping a little to buy new clothes for
himself, a few articles for the farm, and a fresh stock of "trade" for
the payment of his native workers.  Then, feeling that Ferrier might be
growing uneasy at his long absence, he set off one day with his safari
on the return journey, feeling pretty well satisfied with the tangible
result of his first year's labours.

He went by way of Fort Hall, as Mr. Gillespie had suggested.  He found
it to be only a fort in the sense in which that word was used to
describe the stations of the Hudson's Bay Company in the Far North.  A
substantial house perched on a hill, with a solid stone wall and a ditch
around it, the flag of the Protectorate flying from a staff in the
compound, a few huts and houses, a jail, and an Indian bazaar: that was
Fort Hall.  The Commissioner received him hospitably, and listened
attentively to his story.

"Well, Mr. Halliday," he said, "the tribesmen certainly ought to be
taught a lesson: in fact, they clearly have been taught a lesson.  I
don't know that I can do anything.  I got your message, of course, but
had no men available.  You see, we don't care to start police
expeditions if we can avoid it.  It means great expense, and we want all
our funds for peaceful development.  Of course if you hadn't already
given them a dressing we should have had to do something; but I fancy
you've given them a fright, and they won't bother you again. You're
rather far away, and a few years ago you would have had a very hot time
there; but there are signs all over the country that the natives are
settling down peaceably under our government, and the moral effect of
the crushing of the Masai rebellion has been enormous.  Let me know at
once if you have any further trouble."

The interview left John with the impression that he could expect little
assistance from the officials.  In this he probably did them an
injustice.  It is not altogether harmful that the settler should be
self-reliant.




CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH--Rhinoceros and Lions


"I'm jolly glad you're back, old man," said Ferrier, as John marched in
one day at the head of his safari.  "Began to think you were lost.  How
did you get on?"

"Splendidly," said John, cheerful after his quick journey home.  "That
is, pretty well; in fact" (as his memory and his sense of veracity
awoke) "I had the rottenest time I ever had in my life.  That sounds a
bit of a muddle, I know, but I'll tell you all about it presently.  How
have things been going here?"

"Splendidly: that is, pretty well; and I'm glad you're back in time to
prevent me from having the rottenest time I've ever had in my life. It's
just short of that at present."

"What!  Have those blackguards been bothering you?"

"Worse!  Lions!"

"Oh!  Is that it?  I don't know that they're worse than the natives,
though."

"Yes, they are, because it doesn't come to a fair stand-up fight.
They're cowardly, skulking brutes, and so disgustingly clever."

John laughed at Ferrier's aggrieved tone and look.

"Well, I'll get a bath and a feed, and then we'll talk it over," he
said.  "I hope our people have behaved well?"

"Oh yes!  Lulu has been a mother to me--at a distance, of course; and
Said Mohammed has been a delight three times a day.  But go and get your
bath; you'll stand here talking for ever."

Half-an-hour later John, having changed into a suit of white drill, was
sitting at table with Ferrier in the little dining-room of the bungalow.
It struck him as rather bare and cold-looking after Mr. Gillespie's
comfortable rooms, and he resolved, if things went well the second year,
to buy a few bits of furniture.

"It wants a woman, you know," said Ferrier.  "She'd rig up some curtains
and make things look cheerful in no time.  But you'll never get a woman
to live among lions."

"Verree true, sir--excuse the liberty," remarked Said Mohammed, as he
handed the fish.  "A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing; for
there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living."

"That's how he goes on," said Ferrier, exploding when the Bengali had
gone for the joint.  "That's Shakespeare; next time it'll be Milton."

"Did Shakespeare write that rubbish about the wild-fowl?"

"Why, that's the excellent Nick Bottom in _Midsummer Night's Dream_!"

"Never read it: we only did _Julius Caesar_ and _Henry V_.  But tell me
what's happened."

"Nothing, for three weeks, except rain.  My word, didn't it come down!
I'm sorry to say some of the sheep died until we thought of covering
them up at night.  But a week ago I heard a lion roaring in the night,
and in the morning a calf was gone.  Last night it was two sheep.  The
boma's not a bit of good to keep them out.  Why don't you put up some
wire fencing?"

"It's expensive, but I will by and by."

"The lion got clear away the first time, but last night I was roused by
the commotion among the animals, and managed to get a shot as he was
slinking off: it was bright moonlight.  I'm afraid I missed: my right
arm isn't fit for much even yet.  I wanted Bill to go and hunt him with
me; but he wouldn't.  I suppose he won't visit us again now you've come
back: Coja said he's sure the lion's an afreet, which is devil, I
suppose, and knows when the coast is clear."

"I rather fancy he finds other game scarce in this rainy weather.  It's
much easier to break into the boma than to hunt game in the open, and I
expect now that he's tasted blood again and got back his confidence we
shall have some more trouble.  We shall have to tackle him."

"If you excuse me, sir," put in Said Mohammed, so respectfully that John
could not resent the indiscretion, "I will tell you of the machinations
of my prophetic soul my uncle.  He has a small property in the
Sunderbunds; choice site, excellent amenities, et cetera.  There lurks
the tiger, tiger burning bright.  In my childhood innocence I resided
with my avuncular relative, and he being a great shikari I saw some A1
sport.  I should esteem it a privilege to be allowed to give you a leg
up in hunting the abominable creature.  The sahibs in general have
derogatory opinion of us Bengalis; but I am a Socialist, gentlemen, in
so far as believing in equality of chances, and I am cocksure that if
only I get a look in I shall prove to demonstration that I am full of
both grit and beans."

"All right, khansaman, I'll give you a rifle and you shall come with us
when we go after the beast.  It may be rather exciting."

"A regular beano," said Ferrier, sotto voce.  "But I want to hear all
about your droving, Halliday."

John gave him a running account of his experiences, which were more
amusing in retrospect than in actuality.  They spent the rest of the day
in going over the farm together.  John was very well pleased with the
signs of progress he saw everywhere.  The sheep and cattle looked
healthy; the second crops were in good condition; and the only failures
among all the vegetables he had planted were the onions and artichokes,
which had produced too much stalk and gave no indication of fruiting.

That night a lion broke in and carried off a ram.  John was too late to
get a shot at the beast, and next day was too much occupied about the
farm to go in search of it.  But when Wasama came in with the sheep,
somewhat earlier than usual, and reported that he had seen a black-maned
lion with his mate on the edge of the bush, John determined to go out
after them at once.  It was the first time lions had been seen by day,
and this sign of growing boldness convinced him that it was high time to
attempt reprisals.  He was accompanied by Ferrier and Said Mohammed with
two of the Baganda, but by the time they reached the bush the lions had
disappeared, leaving, however, a trace of their depredations in the
freshly-picked bones of the stolen sheep.  Roars were again heard at
night, and John kept watch with Ferrier in anticipation of another
visit; but as had happened before, no lions appeared, and they turned in
towards morning very much disgusted.

Next day John sent for Bill and asked him to lead them over the track of
the lions.  Meat was required for the larder, and he had determined to
combine game-shooting with a lion hunt.  News of his arrangements was
carried to the village by one of the women working on the farm, and just
as he was setting off, a dozen men arrived and begged to be allowed to
join the party, their motive being probably a desire for excitement
mingled with the hope of sharing the spoils.  John's policy being to
keep on good terms with them, he made no objection, and shortly after
ten the party set off, consisting of the two white men with Bill, Said
Mohammed (very proud in the possession of a rifle), and the three
Baganda, the villagers following at a distance.

Business coming before sport, Bill led the party along the river-bank
where he expected to find the tracks of animals which had come down to
drink.  The proximity of the farm had had the effect of scaring
antelopes and gazelles and the timider animals away from the
neighbourhood.  Already John had had to go farther afield for game than
in the early days of the farm a year before.  The Wanderobbo found his
way among the dense vegetation by following old hippo paths, which
crossed and recrossed in what seemed to the wasungu hopeless confusion.
But he came after some miles to a region where there was an abrupt gap
in the larger trees: a fairly wide and recent hippo path led through the
tall grass on the crest of the river-bank; and the party began to be on
the alert for game.

Suddenly Bill halted and took a backward leap which nearly landed him in
the arms of John.

"Faro! faro!" he cried excitedly, and on John asking where the
rhinoceros was, he pointed a few yards ahead, where, almost hidden by
the grass, lay a huge bull animal right across the path, and apparently
asleep.  The white men had brought only their double-barrelled rifles,
which were not the best of weapons for shooting rhinoceros, and John,
having no licence for such big game, though Ferrier had, ordered the
natives to shout, hoping that this would scare the beast away.  When it
remained unmoved he went to the river-bank on the right, and breaking
off some clods of earth, flung them at the slumberous creature, which
completely blocked the way.  But this proving ineffectual ("It's like
shooting peas at a Dreadnought" said John) there was nothing for it but
to try a rifle shot.

Ferrier went forward, cocked his rifle and fired, aiming at the brain;
but though he was ordinarily a dead shot, his right arm had not yet
fully recovered, and he missed.  The rhinoceros was now thoroughly
awake; snorting angrily, he sprang to his feet with extraordinary
nimbleness for so unwieldy a brute, and after a glance round came
charging full at Ferrier.  He fired his second barrel, and this time
hit; but the shot had no effect except to make the beast more furious,
and Ferrier turned and bolted for his life.  All the other members of
the party except John had turned tail and fled away shrieking at the
first moment of the animal's rising.  John, licence or no licence, let
fly with both barrels in rapid succession; whether he hit or not he
could not tell; certainly he failed to check the charging beast, which
made with lowered head straight for Ferrier.

All this had happened in a few seconds.  Ferrier was running hard, but
it was clear that the rhinoceros must soon overtake him, and John knew
that one blow from those terrible horns would inflict a fatal gash. His
hand shaking with nervous anxiety, he reloaded, but when he lifted the
rifle to his shoulder he saw that he could not strike a fatal spot, the
animal being directly between him and his friend.  He ran after them,
hoping for some chance to give him a shot.  At this moment Ferrier
became aware that the rhinoceros was almost within tossing distance, and
leaving the path made a sudden swerve to the right, plunging into the
long grass.  The animal immediately turned to pursue him, for the first
time presenting his flank to John.  It was a ticklish moment.  John knew
that his friend's life probably depended on his coolness.  He steadied
himself, took aim at a spot behind the beast's shoulder, and fired.  He
heard the thud of the bullet, but for a moment feared it had not
penetrated the tough hide.  The rhinoceros made a half-turn as if to
charge his new assailant, and John, glad that he had at least diverted
the pursuit from Ferrier, was preparing to fire his second barrel when
the great form staggered, recovered itself, made two tottering strides,
and then fell over on its side.

The air was rent with jubilant shouts as the natives emerged from their
hiding-places in the grass and ran towards the prostrate beast.  They
started back in affright when it made a last convulsive effort to rise.
John put it out of pain with another shot, and the natives surrounded it
and immediately set about cutting it up.

"Thanks, old man," said Ferrier, coming up.  "That's the second time."

"I say, what's the penalty for shooting a rhino without a licence?"
cried John, to cover his embarrassment.

"The same as if you shot an armed burglar breaking into your house: the
thanks of every honest man for ridding the world of a villain."

Said Mohammed, who had watched the incident from a safe distance,
wondered that two young men should talk so strangely at a time when they
ought to have been overcome with emotion.  That is the English way.
John had once seen M. Perrichon in the play fling his arms round his
preserver's neck and weep with gratitude.  "What sickening rot!" he had
said.  "Come and have an ice."

While the natives were cutting up the rhinoceros, the others marched on.
They had no need to shoot more for the larder; there was at least a ton
of meat on the huge carcase, which would last for several days. It was
now a question of finding the track of lions.  John went ahead with
Bill, Ferrier walking with Said Mohammed a few yards behind.  The
Bengali was talking, and his high-pitched voice carried well in the
crisp, clear air.  John heard him say--

"In my humble opinion, sir, backed by inestimable experience in the
Sunderbunds, it was deplorable error of judgment to bunk.  My uncle,
sir, on that never-to-be-forgotten occasion when I shed the light of my
countenance on his tiger-hunt, he put the tiger to dumbfounder and
flight--how, sir?  By standing firm as a rock, 'without or life or
motion,' as the poet Coleridge beautifully says, and staring with
unflinching gaze into the opposing optics.  Moreover and in addition, he
recited with unfaltering lips the words of a charm he had learnt from
some old cock of a jogi--you have no word for that in your lovely lingo,
sir, but, without disrespect, I might say parson.  Tableau! Exit tiger.
Triumph of mind over matter.  'He held him with his glittering eye,' et
cetera."

    "'The man recovered from the bite,
    The dog it was that died,'"

quoted Ferrier.

"Oliver Goldsmith, sir," cried the Bengali delightedly, "who wrote like
an angel but talked like poor Poll.  I esteem it a glorious privilege to
hold communion, even in humble capacity of cook and bottle-washer, with
gentleman of literary taste and elegant extracts."

The river-bank had descended until the path was almost level with the
surface of the water, and passed several patches of reeds which Bill
negotiated warily, saying that any one of them might harbour a lion. The
white men followed him with growing excitement, and John confessed he
felt rather nervous, not knowing but that a lion might at any moment
spring up at their feet.  He stole a glance at Said Mohammed, and
exchanged a smile with Ferrier as he saw that the cook looked decidedly
jumpy.  Far in the rear came the villagers, eager not to miss the sport,
and yet fearful to approach too near.

All at once Bill halted and bent towards the ground.  There were the
unmistakable pug marks.  Following the track with his eyes, but without
moving from the spot, after a few moments he stretched out his spear
towards a clump of trees about a hundred yards ahead, whispering,
"Simba!"  Neither John nor Ferrier could at first distinguish the lion,
but presently two lionesses sprang out of the undergrowth, and made off
with long low bounds across the plain.  For a moment the white men
watched their graceful movements with admiration, forgetting that these
were the pests they had come out to slay.  Then they set off in pursuit.
But they had not advanced three paces when a huge black-maned lion
showed his head among the bushes, snarling angrily.  He stared at the
strangers for a moment or two, then turned with another growl and
trotted after his mates.

"Come along," said John excitedly.  "We can't get a fair shot at him
yet."

They set off at a run, not troubling about Bill or Said Mohammed, who
followed at a discreet distance.  They gained on the beast, but after
running some three hundred yards found themselves rather short of wind,
owing to the fact that they were in rarefied air at least 6000 feet
above sea-level.

"We shall spoil our aim if we get puffed," said Ferrier.  "Better go
slow."

At this moment, however, the lion halted behind a tree, as if to check
the pursuit of the lionesses, and stood watching the huntsmen, growling
in a very threatening way.  He seemed disinclined to budge, so John lay
down on the path, and bringing his rifle to his shoulder, covered the
huge head.

"Confound it, look how my hand wobbles," he whispered to Ferrier.  "I
can't fix the sight on him.  Be ready to shoot if I miss or just sting
him, for he'll fly at us like the wind."

He steadied his arm and pulled the trigger.  The fierce head instantly
dropped out of sight, and the air was filled with such appalling roars
that John hastily fired the second barrel, in the hope of finishing the
beast before he could charge.  He had to aim by guess-work, and fired
half-a-dozen shots before the roaring ceased.

"Now the others," cried John, shouting to the Wanderobbo to keep his eye
on the spot.

He ran forward with Ferrier towards the lionesses, which had halted a
quarter of a mile away, and could just be seen above the grass.  At the
men's approach they cantered off, and though the chase was kept up for
nearly a mile, they always got to cover before the pursuers came within
effective range, and finally disappeared among a large patch of reeds by
the river, whence it was hopeless to attempt to dislodge them.

"Better luck next time," said John, as they retraced their steps.  "You
shall have first shot, Charley."

Returning towards the spot where the lion had been shot, they found that
Bill had deserted his post.  He was standing in the middle of the path
with Said Mohammed, a good hundred yards away from any bushes or trees.
The natives were chattering at a little distance.

"Why didn't you do as I told you?" cried John, vexed at the possibility
of having lost his quarry.

"Conscience made a coward of him, I fear, sir," said Said Mohammed.

"Well, go and see if you can find the lion.  Get the natives to help. I
don't know which tree it was we shot him at," he added to Ferrier, "but
I'm not going back without his head."

The party split up and made a systematic search, the natives beating the
bush and long grass thoroughly with their spears.  At last one of them
shouted that he had found the simba, instantly running away from the
spot at the top of his speed.  There was no growling to be heard,
however, so plucking up his courage he returned to the place with his
comrades.  When John reached them, he found the men grouped a yard or
two from the lion's tail, jabbering in much excitement.  The beast was
stretched on his side, but John was surprised to see by the heaving of
his flanks that he was not yet dead.  Judging that the chatter of the
men would have roused him if he had been able to rise, John went towards
his head, but the moment the lion caught sight of him he uttered a
terrible roar and to John's amazement sprang to his feet. Stepping
hastily backward, John stumbled against Said Mohammed, who, believing
like every one else that the beast was helpless, had become bold.  The
Bengali went down like a ninepin.  John recovered his footing with an
effort, and raising his rifle, fired at the lion at a range of four
yards; but he was too hurried and agitated to take a careful aim, and
the shot merely had the effect of throwing the infuriated animal on his
haunches as he prepared to spring.

All this had happened so quickly that Ferrier, who had been beating the
bush in the opposite direction from John, had not yet come up.  The
sudden flight of the villagers apprised him that something was wrong,
and as he hurried to the spot he was horrified at the sight that met his
gaze.  Man and beast seemed only a yard apart.  He dared not shoot for
fear of hitting John, and seeing that the shot had but momentarily
checked the animal, he had given up his friend for lost when, as by a
miracle, a sudden diversion occurred.  The lion was leaping on John, who
fired his second barrel with shaking hand and missed, when Said Mohammed
scrambled to his feet and flew down the path, shrieking at the top of
his voice.  As if supposing that this white-clad yelling creature was
his worst enemy, the lion changed the direction of his spring, almost
grazing John as he fell, and bounded off after the Bengali, with such
enormous leaps that escape seemed impossible.  John hastily reloaded and
fired, but he was trembling from head to foot; a mist seemed to rise
before his eyes; and his shot went very wide of the mark.  By the time
Ferrier reached his side the chase seemed over; they thought that
nothing could save the unlucky Indian.  But when almost within the
brute's clutches, Said Mohammed with the desperation of terror made a
sudden jump to the right towards the river, as if intending to fling
himself into it.  The lion swerved after him, presenting his flank to
the anxious spectators.  Quick as thought Ferrier raised his rifle and,
just as the beast was midway in his final spring, brought him down with
a bullet through the heart.

[Illustration: "Ferrier raised his rifle, and brought him down with a
bullet through the heart."]

John heaved a deep sigh of relief.

"Good man!" he said.  "But what on earth is the fellow up to?"

Next moment both he and Ferrier were shaking their sides with laughter,
almost hysterical now that the tension was relaxed.  The Bengali, too
much overcome with terror to be aware of his safety, was scrambling up a
thorn tree with an agility that would have done credit to a slimmer man.
Up he went, frantically swinging himself from bough to bough. Half way
up he lost his puggaree, snatched from his head by a long spike, and
every stage of his ascent was marked by little bits of his white cotton
dhoti left clinging to the branches.  For some moments John was helpless
with laughter, but at last he managed to shout to Said Mohammed to come
down, for the beast was dead.  The shout only made him climb the faster,
nor did he stop until he was perched on the topmost branch, his white
robe flapping in tatters about him.  Nothing would induce him to budge
until the lion's head had been cut off, to be carried back to the farm
as a trophy.  Then he descended, much more slowly than he had mounted,
and with a piteous effort to regain his dignity that was too much for
John and Ferrier, who turned their backs so that he should not see their
amusement.

These excitements were considered enough for one day, and the party set
off for home, the natives carrying the lion's head and shouting a song
of triumph.  John said nothing to Said Mohammed until he thought his
composure was restored.  Then he said--

"I owe you my life, khansaman.  It was very plucky of you to draw the
lion after you, and I shan't forget it.--Shut up!" he whispered to
Ferrier, who emitted a sort of gurgle.

A gratified smile stole across the Bengali's face.

"I am quite bucked, sir," he said.  "Your words are sweeter than honey.
When your honoured parent returns to this vale of woe, my heart will be
in my mouth when I say to him: 'Lo! here is your progeny, whom I, Said
Mohammed, failed B.A. of Calcutta University, saved from the jaws of the
lion.  If I had not been on the spot he would have been absolutely up a
gum-tree.'"

Ferrier guffawed.

"Why didn't you do as your uncle did in the Sunderbunds?" he asked
presently, unable to resist the temptation of a sly dig at the failed
B.A.

"The absence of one ingredient, sir, spoils the sauce.  It was rotten
nuisance, but I forgot _in toto_ the words of the charm."




CHAPTER THE TWELFTH--The Sack of the Farm


At breakfast on the day after the lion-hunt Ferrier, who was silent and
seemed embarrassed, said suddenly--

"I say, old boy, d'you know I've been here nearly two months?"

"What!  Getting tired of it?" said John, with a smile.

"Not a bit; only--well, to put it straight, I've been here so long that
I ought to pay for my keep."

"Rot!"

"I mean it.  It's all very well to be your guest for a week or two, and
I'm jolly comfortable, but to hang on like this--no, really, I ought to
pay something to help keep the pot boiling."

"Now look here, Charles Ferrier, you're a very good sort, but I'm hanged
if I stand that.  If there's any talk of pay, I ought to pay you for
your services.  Five weeks in charge while I was droving--name your
figure.  Rounding up strayed cattle; looking after the natives--how much
that lot?  You do far more in a day than any hired ma

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