The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
time on the road, oxen were scarce, and conse- 
quently expensive to buy. They were too often 
dying from redwater or rinderpest, bitten by the 
tsetse fly, or some other deadly ailment peculiar 
to cattle, so that it is not to be wondered at that 
transport riders, as they are termed, made their 
hay when the sun shone. 
There was nothing much for me to do in 
Salisbury, most of the men in the place having 
work that occupied them during the daytime, 
whilst the town itself could be seen in an hour, 
the hospital, church, and Club being the prin- 
cipal buildings. I met F. C. Selous one day. 
He was passing through the town with his wife 
on the way to a farm he owned. His waggons 
had gone on ahead, whilst he was riding on 
horseback. 
I soon tired of doing nothing, so collected an 
assortment of boys, who, with the addition of a 
Hottentot rascal I engaged as interpreter, num- | 
bered just over twenty. I meant to shoot on 
my way back to Chimoio, going into the country 
in any likely place I could hear of, for the game 
had been driven far away from the transport 
road. 
At Marandella’s Post I left the road, going to 
stay a night with a man who had a farm ten 
miles away. He was very kind and hospitable, 
offering to accompany me if I would wait a day 
or so in order that he could make the necessary 
go 
