BILL 145 
its escape. I was busy reading the story, which was 
very simple. A giant hog had got into the pit and 
had worked with his tusks and feet at the sides of his 
prison until he had raised the bottom to a point which 
enabled him to scramble out and make his escape. 
I had been longing for Bill all morning because of 
certain troubles we were having with our boys. Just 
as we were about to leave the pit to continue our 
march up the mountain side I heard a voice behind 
me: 
“Fambo, Bwana.” [Good morning, Master.”’| 
I recognized Bill’s voice. I turned and saw the 
most disreputable Bill that I had ever seen. His 
‘clothing was worn to shreds, his shoes were practically 
all gone, and the only thing about him that was per- 
fectly all right was his grin. I wanted to hug him. 
I never knew just what happened at the doma except 
that after two weeks Bill got out, took up our trail, 
and followed us in all of our meanderings, and finally 
came up with us at the elephant pit in the gloomy 
bamboo forest. He had probably travelled a couple 
of hundred miles in overtaking us. 
Bill’s training as a tent boy, as I have said, was 
under Alli. Alli was a Swahili, and he was not only 
one of the most efficient tent boys and all-around men 
that we ever had in Africa, but he was especially 
valuable on safari because of his ability to entertain 
and amuse his fellow men around the campfire at 
night. Alli’s sense of the dramatic was extremely 
keen. Night after night he would stand in the 
centre of a circle of admirers, telling them stories. 
