THE LAST FRONTIER 



not see out above the corn. All we knew was that 

 we ought to go down hill. 



At the ends of some of our false trails we came 

 upon fascinating little settlements: groups of houses 

 inside brush enclosures, with low wooden gateways 

 beneath which we had to stoop to enter. Within 

 were groups of beehive houses with small naked 

 children and perhaps an old woman or old man 

 seated cross-legged under a sort of veranda. From 

 them we obtained new and confusing directions. 



After three o'clock we came finally out on the edge 

 of a cliff fifty or sixty feet high, below which lay 

 uncultivated bottom lands like a great meadow and 

 a little meandering stream. We descended the cliff, 

 and camped by the meandering stream. 



By this time we were fairly tired from long walk- 

 ing in the heat, and so were content to sit down 

 under our tent-fly before our little table, and let 

 Mahomet bring us sparklets and lime juice. Be- 

 fore us was the flat of a meadow below the cliffs, 

 and the cliffs themselves. Just below the rise lay a 

 single patch of standing rape not over two acres in 

 extent, the only sign of human life. It was as 

 though this little bit had overflowed from the count- 

 less millions on the plateau above. Beyond it arose 

 a thin signal of smoke. 



We sipped our lime juice and rested. Soon our 



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