THE SEFARI 45 
the gunboy who has, they imagine, failed them. They 
themselves only are to blame. Far more natives are mauled, 
tossed or killed than the white men they serve. It may 
require some nerve to follow dangerous game, when wounded, 
into thick cover, even when you have a powerful rifle in 
your hands, and are confident of your power to instan- 
taneously use it. But it surely requires far greater courage 
to do so, where you carry another man’s rifle, which under 
no circumstances are you permitted to fire. Yet is this 
the gunboy’s fate. He depends entirely on his bwana, 
and many a bwana proves but a broken reed to trust to. 
All the same, no gunboy should be permitted to fire the rifle 
he carries. ‘There can be no two opinions on this point. 
Yet a sharp lesson, enforcing immediate obedience to such 
fire discipline, is often needed. 
When my first long-waited-for lion charged and charged 
very quickly, I saw out of the corner of my eye that Dooda, 
my Somali who squatted beside me, was on the point of 
firing my heavy double .450 cordite rifle (my reserve gun) 
at the great beast whose head and tail could alone be seen 
as he bounded toward us. I had to give him a sharp jog 
with my right elbow under the jaw which put both him 
and the rifle out of action for several minutes. When the 
affair was over and the fine beast turned “paws up,” 
Dooda, to do him justice, forgot for the moment his rude 
reminder, and cheered lustily, but as soon as the first con- 
gratulations were over, he ruefully pointed to his jaw and 
groaned. “‘You do kill me!” It was not quite as bad as 
that. And though, on another occasion, he fell back on 
me so rapidly that he almost knocked me down, he never 
fired one of my guns, unless I told him to. On the whole, 
Dooda was a good gunbearer, and though he had a genius 
for making other men do his work, he made no trouble 
in our sefari. 
My Wakamba “Kongoni,” however, was a man after 
