CHAPTER VIII 
BLEPEHANT 
HAVE been for days struggling through swamps, cor- 
duroying little streams that seem easy to cross, till you 
try to cross them. Then they swallow the mules and don- 
keys, swallow them down; and donkeys must come along 
somehow, for donkeys mean “‘potio.” ‘Two fine mountain 
ranges looked down on our strivings from the east and the 
west, while far away to the northward, where the early 
morning air was clear, stood out the tender blue outline of 
an unknown, or rather, unmapped mountain chain, rising 
above the Turquell River that falls into far-away Lake 
Rudolph. 
The exact whereabouts of my camping I may not, in 
fairness to my guide,* disclose. His patient and persever- 
ing study of the country, and of the ways and wander- 
ings of the great elephant herds, should be as much his 
perquisite as are my ivories when I have shot them. “The 
way in” cannot long remain unknown; but I certainly shall 
not “give it away,” and I am confident no sportsman will 
expect me to. 
Mr. Hoey and I had worked quite conscientiously for 
elephants since we had arranged our partnership; had 
turned from no spoor that was at all promising, till all 
reasonable chance of coming up with our game was gone. 
So long as elephant are not thoroughly alarmed, or have 
not had your wind, or smelt the sefari, it is well worth while 
to follow on and keep following, even if the trail when you 
* On this my last sefari to the Nzoia country, I had secured the services of A. C. Hoey (Eldama 
Ravine) as I wished to know the natives of the Cherangang range, and also to ride lion. I could not 
‘possibly have found a better man. 
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