THE LAST FRONTIER 



wattamus into service. Scallywattamus is a small 

 white mule who is firmly convinced that each and 

 every bush in Africa conceals a mule-eating rhinoc- 

 eros, and who does not intend to be one of the 

 number so eaten. But we had noticed that at times 

 zebra would be so struck with the strange sight of 

 Scallywattamus carrying a man, that they would let 

 us get quite close. C. was to ride Scallywattamus 

 while I trudged along under his lee ready to shoot. 



We set out through the heat shimmer, gradually 

 rising as the plain slanted. Imperceptibly the camp 

 and the trees marking the river's course fell below 

 us and into the heat haze. In the distance, close to 

 the stream, we made out a blurred, brown-red solid 

 mass which we knew for Masai cattle. Various little 

 Thomson's gazelles skipped away to the left wag- 

 gling their tails vigorously and continuously as 

 Nature long since commanded "Tommies" to do. 

 The heat haze steadied around the dim white line, 

 so we could make out the individual animals. There 

 were plenty of them, dozing in the sun. A single 

 tiny treelet broke the plain just at the skyline of the 

 rise. C. and I talked low-voiced as we went along. 

 We agreed that the tree was an excellent landmark 

 to come to, that the little rise afforded proper cover, 

 and that in the morning the wind would in all likeli- 

 hood blow toward the river. There were perhaps 



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