80 MY SOMALI BOOK 



it was much greener than the country we had been 

 marching through. The evening after arriving there 

 I went out with J. to try the Sherwood on dik-dik, 

 without success, for though I had several chances I 

 had yet to learn the little rifle's ways and killed nothing 

 but a partridge in a tree, of which the bullet cut a 

 wing clean off. We were wending our way back about 

 dusk when J. said, " Listen to the wind ! " Elmi, who 

 was with us, did not understand what he said, but 

 caught the gesture and said, " Water." At the word, 

 J. " threw a lep " like a young buck and — sprinted. 

 Water it was sure enough, the river coming down, and 

 we were on the opposite bank from camp ! We just 

 did it, beat the flood by about fifty yards ; to be sure 

 it would hardly have drowned us, but it was coming 

 down at a good pace, perhaps two or three feet 

 in depth, so we were at any rate dryer out of it. 

 The rising moon shining over the trees on the 

 hurrying waters made a picture that one wanted to 

 preserve. 



That night J. turned on a good gramophone after 

 dinner with some excellent records. The effect on 

 himself of anything approaching dance music was 

 remarkable. It was like the pied piper of Hamelin : 

 he had to dance ! His energy was alarming — and 

 disastrous to my whiskey and soda standing too 

 near the table edge. Meanwhile it was raining for 

 all it was worth, and we stayed up talking until 

 2 a.m., B. and I, hox^ing that we might yet get back 

 dry to our own tents. Needless to say we did not 

 succeed. 



On the 31st July, the caravan marched again at 



