THE LAST FRONTIER 



ground, and where to step across the bubbling, little 

 irrigation streams. But thousands of stars insisted 

 on a simplification. The broad, rolling meadows of 

 the clearing lay half guessed in the dim light; and 

 about its edge was the velvet band of the forest, 

 dark and mysterious, stretching away for leagues 

 into the jungle. From it near at hand, far away, 

 came the rhythmic beating of solemn great drums, 

 and the rising and falling chants of the savage 

 peoples. 



(c) THE CHIEFS 



We left Meru well observed by a very large au- 

 dience, much to the delight of our safari boys, who 

 love to show off. We had acquired fourteen more 

 small boys, or totos, ranging in age from eight to 

 twelve years. These had been fitted out by their 

 masters to alleviate their original shenzi appear- 

 ance of savagery. Some had ragged blankets, 

 which they had already learned to twist turban wise 

 around their heads; others had ragged old jerseys 

 reaching to their knees, or the wrecks of full-grown 

 undershirts; one or two even sported baggy breeches 

 a dozen sizes too large. Each carried his little load, 

 proudly, atop his head like a real porter, sufurias 

 or cooking pots, the small bags of potio, and the like. 

 Inside a mile they had gravitated together and with 



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