THE GUASO NYERO 



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not looking for crocodiles, but for land foes, lions or leop- 

 ards. Each in turn drank, skipping up to the top of the 

 bank after a few mouthfuls, and then returning to the water. 

 The bull followed with rather less caution, and before he 

 had finished drinking the cows scurried hurriedly back to 

 the thorn-trees and the open country. We had plenty of 

 meat in camp, and I had completed my series of this species 

 of waterbuck for the museum; and I was glad there was 

 no need to molest them. 



The porters were enjoying the rest and the abundance 

 of meat. They were lying about camp or were scattered 

 up and down stream fishing. When, walking back, I 

 came to the outskirts of camp, I was attracted by the buzzing 

 and twanging of the harp; there was the harper and two 

 friends, all three singing to his accompaniment. I called 

 "Yambo" (greeting), and they grinned and stood up, 

 shouting "Yambo" in return. In camp a dozen men were 

 still at work at the giraffe skin, and they were all singing 

 loudly, under the lead of my gun-bearer, Gouvimali, who 

 always acted as shanty man, or improvisatore, on such 

 occasions. 



For a week we now trekked steadily south across the 

 equator, heel and toe marching, to Neri. Our first day's 

 journey took us to a gorge riven in the dry mountain. Half- 

 way up it, in a side pocket, was a deep pool, at the foot of 

 a sloping sheet of rock, down which a broad, shallow dent 

 showed where the torrents swept during the rains. In the 

 trees around the pool black drongo shrikes called in bell- 

 like tones, and pied hornbills flirted their long tails as they 

 bleated and croaked. The water was foul; but in a dry 

 country one grows gratefully to accept as water anything 



