THE LAST FRONTIER 



grain probably constituted the old man's food supply 

 for a season, I did not wonder at the vehemence with 

 which he shook his spear at his enemies, nor the ap- 

 parent flavour of his language, though I did marvel 

 at his physical endurance. As for the birds, they 

 had become cynical and impudent; they barely flut- 

 tered out of the way. 



I halted the old gentleman and hastened to ex- 

 plain that I was neither a pirate, a robber, nor an 

 oppressor of the poor. This as counter-check to his 

 tendency to flee, leaving me in sole charge. He un- 

 derstood a little Swahili, and talked a few words of 

 something he intended for that language. By means 

 of our mutual accomplishment in that tongue, and 

 through a more efficient sign language, I got him 

 to understand the plan of campaign. It was very 

 simple. I squatted down inside the rape, while he 

 went around the other side to scare them up. 



The white birds uttered their peculiarly derisive 

 cackle at the old man and flapped over to my side. 

 Then they were certainly an astonished lot of birds. 

 I gave them both barrels and dropped a pair; got 

 two more shots as they swung over me and dropped 

 another pair, and brought down a straggling single as 

 a grand finale. The flock, with shrill, derogatory 

 remarks, flew in an airline straight away. They 

 never deviated, as far as I could follow them with 



268 



