WILD LIFE ACROSS THE WORLD 



Poor Mahomed, my personal boy, met with a great 

 disappointment at this camp. Before leaving Nyeri 

 that morning he, the cook, and the headman had 

 combined to buy (or steal) a chicken, intending to have 

 it for their evening's meal. It was still alive at the 

 end of the trek, though I have not the least idea where 

 or how they had concealed it for so many hours. 

 That, however, is a task at which the native excels. 

 Scantily clad though he is, he manages to tuck away 

 a truly marvellous amount of stolen or contraband 

 goods. 



As soon as we had made camp the unfortunate 

 fowl was produced and tied by the leg to a stake 

 which had been driven into the ground, where it was 

 allowed to flutter miserably whilst awaiting execution. 

 Once or twice my little dog showed a strong inclination 

 to put an end to its miseries, but I restrained her. 

 At last, however, I got tired of seeing it there, knowing 

 how it was suffering, so picking up a small 22 

 collecting rifle at fifty yards, fired and shot it through 

 the head, at which I was a little surprised, Mahomed 

 was surprised too, unpleasantly. He was, as is 

 obvious from his name, a follower of the Prophet, 

 and, of course, could not eat any meat unless the throat 

 had been cut by a true believer before the animal died. 

 He made one dive for the chicken, snatched it up, 

 breaking the string, then rushed round the camp 

 yeUing for a knife. But, unfortunately, by the time 



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