By the time these trophies were prepared, the sun had
mounted high in the heavens, and it was getting hot.
Accordingly we abandoned that still distant river and swung away
in a wide circle to return to camp.
Several minor adventures brought us to high noon and the heat of
the day. B. had succeeded in drawing a prize, one of the Grevy's
or mountain zebra. He and the gunbearers engaged themselves with
that, while we sat under the rather scanty shade of a small thorn
tree and had lunch. Here we had a favourable chance to observe
that very common, but always wonderful phenomenon, the gathering
of the carrion birds. Within five minutes after the stoop of the
first vulture above the carcass, the sky immediately over that
one spot was fairly darkened with them. They were as thick as
midges-or as ducks used to be in California. All sizes were
there from the little carrion crows to the great dignified
vultures and marabouts and eagles. The small fry flopped and
scolded, and rose and fell in a dense mass; the marabouts walked
with dignified pace to and fro through the grass all about. As
far as the eye could penetrate the blue, it could make out more
and yet more of the great soarers stooping with half bent wings.
Below we could see uncertainly through the shimmer of the mirage
the bent forms of the men.
We ate and waited; and after a little we dozed. I was awakened
suddenly by a tremendous rushing roar, like the sound of a not
too distant waterfall. The group of men were plodding toward us
carrying burdens. And like plummets the birds were dropping
straight down from the heavens, spreading wide their wings at the
last moment to check their speed. This made the roaring sound
that had awakened me.
A wide spot in the shimmer showed black and struggling against
the ground. I arose and walked over, meeting halfway B. and the
men carrying the meat. It took me probably about two minutes to
reach the place where the zebra had been killed. Hundreds,
perhaps thousands, of the great birds were standing idly about; a
dozen or so were flapping and scrambling in the centre. I stepped
into view. With a mighty commotion they all took wing clumsily,
awkwardly, reluctantly. A trampled, bloody space and the larger
bones, picked absolutely clean, was all that remained! In less
than two minutes the job had been done!
"You're certainly good workmen!" I exclaimed, "but I wonder how
you all make a living!"
We started the men on to camp with the meat, and ourselves rested
under the shade. The day had been a full and interesting one; but
we considered it as finished. Remained only the hot journey back
to camp.
After a half hour we mounted again and rode on slowly. The sun
was very strong and a heavy shimmer clothed the plain. Through
this shimmer we caught sight of something large and black and
flapping. It looked like a crow-or, better, a
scare-crow-crippled, half flying, half running, with waving
wings or arms, now dwindling, now gigantic as the mirage caught
it up or let it drop. As we watched, it developed, and we made it
out to be a porter, clad in a long, ragged black overcoat,
running zigzag through the bushes in our direction.
The moment we identified it we spurred our horses forward. As my
horse leaped, Memba Sasa snatched the Springfield from my left
hand and forced the 405 Winchester upon me. Clever Memba Sasa! He
no more than we knew what was up, but shrewdly concluded that
whatever it was it needed a heavy gun.
As we galloped to meet him, the porter stopped. We saw him to be
a very long-legged, raggedy youth whom we had nicknamed the
Marabout because of his exceedingly long, lean legs, the fact
that his breeches were white, short and baggy, and because he
kept his entire head shaved close. He called himself Fundi, which
means The Expert, a sufficient indication of his confidence in
himself.
He awaited us leaning on his safari stick, panting heavily, the
sweat running off his face in splashes. "Simba!"* said he, and
immediately set off on a long, easy lope ahead of us. We pulled
down to a trot and followed him.
*Lion
At the end of a half mile we made out a man up a tree. Fundi, out
of breath, stopped short and pointed to this man. The latter, as
soon as he had seen us, commenced to scramble down. We spurred
forward to find out where the lions had been last seen.
Then Billy covered herself with glory by seeing them first. She
apprised us of that fact with some excitement. We saw the long,
yellow bodies of two of them disappearing in the edge of the
brush about three hundred yards away. With a wild whoop we tore
after them at a dead run.
Then began a wild ride. Do you remember Billy's remark about the
nature of the footing? Before long we closed in near enough to
catch occasional glimpses of the beasts, bounding easily along.
At that moment B.'s horse went down in a heap. None of us thought
for a moment of pulling up. I looked back to see B. getting up
again, and thought I caught fragments of encouraging-sounding
language. Then my horse went down. I managed to hold my rifle
clear, and to cling to the reins. Did you ever try to get on a
somewhat demoralized horse in a frantic hurry, when all your
friends were getting farther away every minute, and so lessening
your chances of being in the fun? I began to understand perfectly
B.'s remarks of a moment before.
