Hunting at High Altitudes 



The railroad crosses the Zambesi a few yards 

 below the Falls, the train pulling in to Livingstone, 

 the capital of Northwest Rhodesia, at 9 o'clock. 

 Here I was met by Finaughty, my hunter, with 

 word that the wagon would meet us at Kalomo, 

 ninety miles further on, so we changed into the 

 train for Broken Hill, stopping only to get my 

 shooting license. 



That afternoon we left the train at Kalomo 

 Station, and trekking through the old capital, now 

 deserted, as it was very unhealthy in the rains, 

 camped near a little river at sunset; the fiery ball of 

 the sun disappearing soon after making camp. The 

 little river was only a river in the rainy season, and 

 I did not imagine that we were going to drink the 

 water the servants brought from the pool nearby, 

 as it was quite muddy and had a decidedly grassy 

 taste. However, one soon became accustomed to 

 it, and when it was boiled, it was not so bad. Be- 

 sides, we had a water barrel on the wagon, which 

 we filled whenever we found extra good water. It 

 is only fair to say that 1908 was an exceptionally 

 dry year. The wagon trekked on at 2 o'clock in the 

 morning, while we cantered on for breakfast, hav- 

 ing kept a couple of "boys" with us to carry our 

 beds. I should say that in this part of the world any 

 native servant is a "boy," while any native is a 



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