WINGED DEATH 199 



my heavy sheepskin coat, I continued to tremble 

 with cold. 



Working under a tropical sun, lugging a heavy 

 camera from one place to another, trying to catch the 

 high spots in the fastest of wild action, that of savages 

 going through a ceremonial dance, is hard work when 

 in good health, but to jump around this way during 

 a bad attack of jungle fever is just about all a human 

 can stand. After three hours of heartbreaking effort, 

 I hurried back to camp and went to bed, where my 

 boys piled eight blankets over me. These and several 

 hot drinks warmed me up, but for three nights and 

 days I suffered with the fever. My temperature was 

 around one hundred four most of the time; my 

 back and stomach pained so much that I thought 

 surely the end was near. Large doses of quinine only 

 seemed to make me worse, so on the third afternoon 

 I had my boys place me, army cot and all, on one of 

 the trucks, over which was rigged a tarpauHn to keep 

 off the burning sun. 



Ted drove me to the Eldoret Nursing Home, twenty- 

 eight miles as the car bumps. Of all the rides in my 

 life I shall never forget this one. Every time we hit 

 a hole, which was every second or so, it seemed as if 

 someone were sticking knives into me. The miles 

 seemed ages long, but all things must have an end, 

 so finally we arrived where I could get proper medical 

 attention and rest. A very efficient EngKsh doctor 

 and two white nurses constituted the staff of this 

 hospital. A soft clean bed and the realization of 

 skilled attention at hand made me feel better imme- 

 diately. They gave me injections of hquid quinine 

 twice daily until the fever broke; then once a day for 



