A PLEA FOR THE NATIVE 395 
So it came about by degrees that the despised Wakamba, 
Massai or N’dorobo had a chance given him to prove what 
he could do, and to-day the men who know, the men who 
understand the pursuit of dangerous game, invariably place 
confidence in the native rather than in the much-vaunted 
Somali. 
I cannot conceive of men more brave, of men more abso- 
lutely devoid of all nervousness, men more utterly faithful 
and self-sacrificing than those good fellows who came with 
me. My one difficulty with them was to prevent them 
from thrusting their own bodies, in front of mine, into the 
dangerous cover where death lurked. I found myself 
one morning in long grass, with lions all round me, all of 
them unseen, two of them wounded, deep nerve-shaking 
grunts coming from all sides but a few yards away. My 
Somali danced hither and thither like a nut on a hot frying- 
pan; my Wakamba “‘ Brownie” never moved a muscle. 
One thief, and one only, I had in my sefaris, in thirteen 
months’ travelling. He stole my precious letter bag, photos, 
hunting knife, and seventy-five rupees. When I got back 
to Nairobi I talked the matter over with Brownie. The 
man was a Wakamba, one I had taken on at Nairobi for 
a short sefari only. JI asked Brownie what he could do to 
catch the thief and save the honour of his people; he under- 
took to do his best. He took up the man’s trail, followed 
him for several hundred miles, first to one outlying village 
then to another, and finally at Kilinduni, the port of Mom- 
bassa, ran him to ground. ‘The job cost both of us much 
trouble and me not a little expense. I may mention inci- 
dentally that the affair was undertaken at the government’s 
request, and though I did thereby a real service to the 
authorities by bringing to justice a most cunning criminal, 
I could not even procure for Brownie so much as a pass on 
the railroad from Mombassa back to Nairobi, but had to 
pay this expense myself. They muddle things strangely 
