HUNTING GORILLAS 203 
pinch myself occasionally to bring about the realiza- 
tion that I was not hunting elephants on a miniature 
Kenia. There was the same vegetation, except that 
the trees were smaller. There were elephant trails, 
but only a few and with small tracks. There were no 
great forest trees like those of Kenia, no bamboos 
seventy-five feet high with five-inch stems. There 
was just little stuff, but still it was all reminiscent of 
Kenia. One thing, the slopes were just as steep and 
‘just as slippery, and the mud in the level places just 
as deep and sticky as Kenia’s. 
Through this forest there are native trails or game 
trails almost everywhere. We had followed these 
trails for about two hours up the side of Mikeno when 
we came to a spot where there was a little mud hole 
in the path. I'll never forget it. In that mud hole 
were the marks of four great knuckles where the 
gorilla had placed his hand on the ground. There is 
no other track like this on earth—there is no other 
hand in the world so large. Nearest to it is the hand 
of the chimpanzee, and he does not place his hand on 
the ground in the same way. As I looked at that 
track I lost the faith on which I had brought my party 
to Africa. Instinctively I took my gun from the gun 
boy. I knew then the feeling Du Chaillu described 
in his quaint phrase, “‘ My feelings were really excited 
to a painful degree.” 
I had more thrill from the sight of this first track 
than from anything that happened later. I forgot 
all about Kenia as the guide took up the trail. Half 
an hour later we came upon other tracks, tracks made 
