At One End A Canyon Dropped Away To A Lower Level,
And At The Other A Pass In The Hills Gave Over To The Country Of
The Narassara River.
The name of the valley was Lengeetoto.
>From the great mountains flowed many brooks of clear sparkling
water, that ran beneath the most beautiful of open jungles, to
unite finally in one main stream that disappeared down the canyon.
Between these brooks were low broad rolling hills, sometimes
grass covered, sometimes grown thinly with bushes. Where they
headed in the mountains, long stringers of forest trees ran up to
blocklike groves, apparently pasted like wafers against the base
of the cliffs, but in reality occupying spacious slopes below
them.
We decided to camp at the foot of a long grass slant within a
hundred yards of the trees along one of the small streams. Before
us we had the sweep of brown grass rising to a clear cut skyline;
and all about us the distant great hills behind which the day
dawned and fell. One afternoon a herd of giraffes stood
silhouetted on this skyline quite a half hour gazing curiously
down on our camp. Hartebeeste and zebra swarmed in the grassy
openings; and impalla in the brush. We saw sing-sing and
steinbuck, and other animals, and heard lions nearly every night.
But principally we elected to stay because a herd of buffaloes
ranged the foothills and dwelt in the groves of forest trees
under the cliffs. We wanted a buffalo; and as Lengeetoto is
practically unknown to white men, we thought this a good chance
to get one.
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