A RUNNING FIGHT 149 



caravan crept slowly downhill there was ample 

 time to look back up the valley to the snow-peaks, 

 which on that day, the day when we should 

 have been upon them, remained unclouded for 

 hours after the time when they were usually hidden. 

 They seemed to be flouting us, and to be adding 

 insult to injury, but I registered a vow that I would 

 return to them again. 



There followed three days of extremely unpleasant 

 travelling — most of the way, in fact, it was a sort of 

 running fight. Even the extremity of fear will not 

 prevent a black man from loitering if he can possibly 

 do so, and our caravan of 150 was generally 

 straggling along a length of half a mile or more. 

 The paths that we followed (often the wrong ones, 

 as we had no guides) were the merest tunnels 

 through elephant-grass and dense jungle, and if the 

 hostile natives had had any sort of method in their 

 attacks, they could have cut us to pieces at their 

 leisure. Fortunately for us they contented them- 

 selves with lurking in the grass and hurling spears 

 or shooting their little arrows when they saw a 

 chance. Some of them, I am sorry to say, paid 

 the penalty for their boldness, but though several of 

 our people were hit, none were seriously injured. 

 Two wounds made by poisoned arrows were 

 promptly sucked, and healed up without any 

 trouble. 



Although the natives made such a poor show, 

 it was very irritating to hear them shouting and 



