-> A Dying Race of Giants 



brought their herds here time out of mind until the 

 rinderpest devastated them. 



For weeks I had had natives on the look-out for elephants. 

 They could only tell me, however, of small herds composed 

 of cows and young bulls, and that was not good enough 

 from the point of view of either sportsman or photographer. 

 However, I made several excursions round the Kilepo Hill 

 from my camp, never taking more than a few men with 

 me it so often happens that one's followers spoil the 

 chase, perhaps quite frustrate it. This is well known to 

 natives and experienced elephant-hunters. 



I soon became familiar with the district and its 

 vegetation. For hours I followed paths which led through 

 thick undergrowth, and I had some unpleasant encounters 

 with rhinoceroses. I knew well that the neighbourhood 

 of the hills, with its tall impenetrable growth, was a 

 most likely one for astute and cautious bull-elephants to 

 haunt. 



Hunting elephants in this fashion, clay after day, with 

 only a few followers, is a delightful experience. It happens, 

 perhaps, that one has to pass the night in the forest under 

 the free vault of heaven, with the branches of a huge tree as 

 shelter. The faint glow of the camp-fire fades and flickers, 

 producing weird effects in the network of the foliage. 

 How quickly one falls victim to atavistic terrors ot the 

 night! Terrors of what? Of the " pepo ya miti," the 

 spirit of the woods, or of some other mysterious sprite ? 

 No, of wild animals the same kind of fear that little 

 children have in the dark of something unknown, dangerous 

 and threatening. My followers betake themselves to their 



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