THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



made a thin but regular cover. There seemed not 

 to be a spear of anything edible, yet we caught the 

 flash of red as a herd of impalla melted away at our 

 rather noisy approach. Near the foot of the hill 

 we dismounted, with orders to all the men but the 

 gunbearers to sit down and make themselves com- 

 fortable. Should we need them we could easily 

 either signal or send word. Then we set ourselves 

 toilsomely to clamber up that volcanic hill. 



It was not particularly easy going, especially as 

 we were trying to walk quietly. You see, we were 

 about to surmount a skyline. Surmounting a sky- 

 line is always most exciting anywhere, for what lies 

 beyond is at once revealed as a whole and contains 

 the very essence of the unknown; but most decidedly 

 is this true in Africa. That mesa looked flat, and 

 almost anything might be grazing or browsing there. 

 So we proceeded gingerly, with due regard to the 

 rolling of the loose rocks or the tinkling of the little 

 pebbles. 



' But long before we had reached that alluring sky- 

 line we were halted by the gentle snapping of Mav- 

 rouki's fingers. That, strangely enough, is a sound 

 to which wild animals seem to pay no attention, and 

 is therefore most useful as a signal. We looked back. 

 The three gunbearers were staring to the right of our 

 course. About a hundred yards away, on the steep 



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