144 AFRICAN GAME TRAILS 



ahead of us, by a little island of papyrus, was the dead 

 hippo. With the help of the boat it was towed to a con- 

 venient landing-place, and then the porters dragged it 

 ashore. It was a cow, of good size for one dwelling in a 

 small river, where they never approach the dimensions 

 of those making their homes in a great lake like the Vic- 

 toria Nyanza. This one weighed nearly two thousand eight 

 hundred pounds, and I could well believe that a big lake 

 bull would weigh between three and four tons. 



In wild regions hippos rest on sandy bars, and even 

 come ashore to feed, by day; but wherever there are in- 

 habitants they land to feed only at night. Those in the 

 Rewero continually entered McMillan's garden. Where 

 they are numerous they sometimes attack small boats and 

 kill the people in them; and where they are so plentiful 

 they do great damage to the plantations of the natives, so 

 much so that they then have to be taken off the list of 

 preserved game and their destruction encouraged. Their 

 enormous jaws sweep in quantities of plants, or lush grass, 

 or corn, or vegetables, at a mouthful, while their appetites 

 are as gigantic as their bodies. In spite of their short legs, 

 they go at a good gait on shore, but the water is their real 

 home, and they always seek it when alarmed. They 

 dive and float wonderfully, rising to the surface or sinking 

 to the bottom at will, and they gallop at speed along the 

 bottoms of lakes or rivers, with their bodies wholly sub- 

 merged; but as is natural enough, in view of their big bodies 

 and short legs, they are not fast swimmers for any length 

 of time. They make curious and unmistakable trails along 

 the banks of any stream in which they dwell; their short 

 legs are wide apart, and so when they tread out a path 

 they leave a ridge of high soil down the centre. Where 

 they have lived a long time, the rutted paths are worn 

 deep into the soil, but always carry this distinguishing 

 middle ridge. 



The full-jacketed Winchester bullet had gone straight 

 into the brain; the jacket had lodged in the cranium, but 



