THE LAST FRONTIER 



the same moment the syces led up our horses. We 

 mounted and headed across the little plain whence 

 had come the four ostriches. Our African journey 

 had definitely begun. 



Behind us, all abreast marched the four gunbear- 

 ers; then the four syces; then the safari single file, 

 an askari at the head bearing proudly his ancient 

 musket and our banner, other askaris flanking, 

 M'ganga bringing up the rear with his mighty um- 

 brella and an unsuspected rhinoceros-hide whip. 

 The tent boys and the cook scattered along the 

 flank anywhere, as befitted the free and independent 

 who had nothing to do with the serious business of 

 marching. A measured sound of drumming fol- 

 lowed the beating of loads with a hundred sticks; a 

 wild, weird chanting burst from the ranks and died 

 down again as one or another individual or group 

 felt moved to song. One lot had a formal chant and 

 response. Their leader, in a high falsetto, said 

 something like 



" Kuna koma kuno," 



and all his tribesmen would follow with a single word 

 in a deep gruff tone 



" Za-la-nee ! ' ? 



All of which undoubtedly helped immensely 

 The country was a bully country, but somehow it 



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