With Flashlight and Rifle 





They seem to prefer sleeping on steep and inaccessible 

 rocky spots, so as to keep out of the way of the leopard. 

 Shivering with cold in the: early mornings, they huddle 

 together on the rocks, and it is not until the sun's rays have- 

 had plenty of time to warm them that they are awakened 

 to new vivacity, for baboons are lovers of sun and light. 

 With a good glass one can watch their goings-on for hours 

 together. It seems, then, as if the hillsides were peopled 

 by a primitive race of men. The old leaders of the troop 

 survey one critically from their craggy watch-towers, whilst 

 the females and young retire into the background in 

 great crowds. 



The killing of monkeys or apes is not one of the 

 pleasures of tropical hunting. Their death is so human 

 that the hunter can only make up his mind to pull the 

 trigger on the creatures in the interest of zoology. Death 

 softens the original savage expression on the countenance 

 of dying baboons, and you see a look of intense agony in 

 the fixed stare of their eyes. 



I remember especially a most painful moment I ex- 

 perienced after I had shot a powerful old baboon and 

 followed him into a rocky cavern, where I found him 

 dying, with his hands pressed to the death-wound. On 

 another occasion I reached a mountain stream, after a 

 twelve-hours' march at the head of my caravan, when 

 we were all nearly dead with thirst. There were no signs 

 of human beings about the surrounding craggy world of 

 rocks, when suddenly one of my people; called out in a 

 tone of fear, " Mtua Bwana," "A man, master!" as a 

 human-looking face appeared, looking from behind a 



554 



