MANAGING A SAFARI 



yellow and white that before were green, a truly 

 gorgeous sight. 



Then we turned sharp to the right and began to 

 ascend a little tributary brook coming down the 

 wide flats from a cleft in the hills. This was pret- 

 tily named the Isiola, and, after the first mile or so, 

 was not big enough to afford the luxury of a jungle 

 of its own. Its banks were generally grassy and 

 steep, its thickets few, and its little trees isolated 

 in parklike spaces. To either side of it, and almost 

 at its level, stretched plains, but plains grown with 

 scattered brush and shrubs so that at a mile or two 

 one's vista was closed. But for all its scant ten feet 

 of width the Isiola stood upon its dignity as a stream. 

 We discovered that when we tried to cross. The 

 men floundered waist-deep on uncertain bottom; 

 the syces received much unsympathetic comment for 

 their handling of the animals, and we had to get 

 Billy over by a melodramatic "bridge of life" with 

 B., F., myself, and Memba Sasa in the title roles. 



Then we pitched camp in the open on the other 

 side, sent the horses back from the stream until 

 after dark, in fear of the deadly tsetse fly, and pre- 

 pared to enjoy a good exploration of the neighbour- 

 hood. Whereupon M'ganga rose up to his gaunt 

 and terrific height of authority, stretched forth his 

 bony arm at right angles, and uttered between eight 



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