THE LAST FRONTIER 



dered until nearly midnight. The four or five men 

 with us were loaded heavily with the meat and tro- 

 phy of a roan. Certainly they must have been very 

 tired; for only occasionally could we permit them to 

 lay down their loads. Most of the time we were 

 actually groping, over boulders, volcanic rocks, 

 fallen trees and all sorts of tribulation. The men 

 took it as a huge joke, and at every pause laughed 

 consumedly. 



In making up a safari one tries to mix in four or 

 five tribes. This prevents concerted action in case 

 of trouble, for no one tribe will help another. They 

 vary both in tribal and individual characteristics, 

 of course. For example, the Kikuyus are docile 

 but mediocre porters; the Kavirondos strong carriers 

 but turbulent and difficult to handle. You are 

 very lucky if you happen on a camp jester, one of 

 the sort that sings, shouts, or jokes while on the 

 march. He is probably not much as a porter, but 

 he is worth his wages nevertheless. He may or may 

 not aspire to his giddy eminence. We had one droll- 

 faced little Kavirondo whose very expression made 

 one laugh, and whose rueful remarks on the harsh- 

 ness of his lot finally ended by being funny. His 

 name got to be a catchword in camp. 



"Mualo! Mualo!" the men would cry, as they 

 heaved their burdens to their heads; and all day 



