THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



bushes alternated with open plain. The grass grew 

 high. We had to cut it out to make camp. 



Nothing indicated that we were otherwise situated 

 than in a very pleasant, rather wide grass valley in 

 the embrace of the mountains. Only a walk of a 

 few hundred yards atop the upthrow of the low rise 

 revealed the fact that it was in reality the lip of a 

 bench, and that beyond it the country fell away in 

 sheer cliffs whose ultimate drop was some fifteen 

 hundred feet. One could sit atop and dangle his 

 feet over unguessed abysses. 



For a week we had been hunting for greater kudu. 

 Each day Memba Sasa and I went in one direction, 

 while Mavrouki and Kongoni took another line. We 

 looked carefully for signs, but found none fresher 

 than the month before. Plenty of other game made 

 the country interesting; but we were after a shy and 

 valuable prize, so dared not shoot lesser things. At 

 last, at the end of the week, Mavrouki came in with 

 a tale of eight lions seen in the low scrub across the 

 stream. The kudu business was about finished, as 

 far as this place went, so we decided to take a look for 

 the lions. 



We ate by lantern and at the first light were 

 ready to start. But at that moment, across the 

 slope of the rim a few hundred yards away, appeared 

 a small group of sing-sing. These are a beautiful 



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