AFRICAN CAMP FIRES 



find a sable feeding in one of the little open glades; 

 but whenever I allowed myself to think of the many 

 adverse elements of the game, the chances seemed 

 very slim. It took a half hour to get from one 

 glade to the next; there were thousands of glades; 

 the sable is a rare shy animal that likes dense cover 

 fully as well if not better than the open. Sheer rank 

 bull luck alone seemed the only hope. And as I felt 

 my strength going in that cruel struggle against 

 heavy brush and steep hills, I began to have very 

 strong doubts indeed as to that sable. 



For it was cruel, hard work. In this climate one 

 hailed a car or a rickshaw to do an errand two blocks 

 away, and considered himself quite a hero if he took 

 a leisurely two-mile stroll along the cliff heads at 

 sunset. Here I was, after a five-hour uphill march, 

 bucking into brush and through country that would 

 be considered difficult going even in Canada. At 

 the end of twenty minutes my every garment was 

 not wringing, but dripping, wet so that when I 

 carried my rifle over my arm, water ran down the 

 barrel and off the muzzle in a steady stream. After 

 a bit of this my knees began to weaken; and it 

 became a question of saving energy, of getting along 

 somehow, and of leaving the actual hunting to 

 Memba Sasa and the guide. If they had shown me 

 a sable, I very much doubt if I could have hit it. 



90 



