THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



roar, like the sound of a not too distant waterfall. 

 The group of men were plodding toward us carrying 

 burdens. And like plummets the birds were 

 dropping straight down from the heavens, spreading 

 wide their wings at the last moment to check their 

 speed. This made the roaring sound that had 

 awakened me. 



A wide spot in the shimmer showed black and 

 struggling against the ground. I arose and walked 

 over, meeting halfway B. and the men carrying the 

 meat. It took me probably about two minutes to 

 reach the place where the zebra had been killed. 

 Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the great birds 

 were standing idly about; a dozen or so were flap- 

 ping and scrambling in the centre. I stepped into 

 view. With a mighty commotion they all took wing 

 clumsily, awkwardly, reluctantly. A trampled, 

 bloody space and the larger bones, picked absolutely 

 clean, was all that remained! In less than two 

 minutes the job had been done! 



"You're certainly good workmen!" I exclaimed, 

 "but I wonder how you all make a living!" 



We started the men on to camp with the meat, and 

 ourselves rested under the shade. The day had 

 been a full and interesting one; but we considered 

 it as finished. Remained only the hot journey back 

 to camp. 



i3o 



