MAHOMED WANTS MY BOOTS 



After a halt at a water-hole, where I only allowed 

 the carriers to remain for a drink, as the clouds were 

 beginning to gather, we pushed on, but had not gone 

 far before a great thunder-storm swept down upon 

 us. In a very few minutes every soul was drenched to 

 the skin, but we had long since grown accustomed 

 to that sort of thing, and it did not worry us very much. 

 About half an hour before dark parrots by the hundred 

 came flying over us. They had fed on seed grass 

 miles away, and had come to roost in the forest. 



We camped where I had intended, at the very foot 

 of the mountains, which towered above us. If we 

 glanced the other way we could look right over what 

 seemed now to be a vast expanse of plain. It was 

 at this camp that I had an example of Mahomed's 

 cunning. As the last pair of boots had turned out 

 a failure, and had been traded away, he was anxious 

 to secure another. Those he coveted happened to 

 be a pair I had been wearing that day. The fact 

 that they were wet gave him his chance. They were 

 sturdy, comfortable, brown boots, and he took them 

 to dry by one of the huge cedar fires, and put them 

 so close that they shrank far too much for me ever 

 to wear them again. He came to me with a most 

 rueful countenance, full of apologies, and obviously 

 expecting to have them given to him. Only a moment 

 before, however, I had been informed that he had been 

 overheard telling another boy of what he intended doing, 



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