CHAPTER IX 



August 20. — Cuninghame and I parted company at 

 daybreak. I set out by compass, bearing for a river 

 called the Bologonja, described by savages as running. 

 Went for miles over rolling burnt-out desert on which 

 roamed a few kongoni and eland. Then saw the 

 green trees of my river, walked two miles more — and 

 found myself in a paradise. 



For three miles we continued on down the river out- 

 side the tall trees that constituted its jungle. Then 

 we saw three lions, but they got the wind of the safari 

 and decamped. I chased them a half mile, but nearly 

 ruined my ex-broken ankle, and had to stop from sheer 

 pain. Then we turned aside and made camp. 



It is hard to do that country justice. From the 

 river it rolls away in gentle, low-sloping hills as green 

 as emeralds, beneath trees spaced as in a park. One 

 could see as far as the limits of the horizon, and yet 

 everywhere were these trees, singly, in little open 

 groves; and the grass was the greenest green, and short 

 and thick as though cut and rolled; and in the broad 

 hollows were open parks. 



The Bologonja was indeed a clear stream, running 

 over pebbles and little rocks, shadowed by a lofty, 



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