THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



dancing with all abandon. The firelight leaped 

 high among the logs that eager hands cast on it; and 

 the shadows it threw from the swirling, leaping fig- 

 ures wavered out into a great, calm darkness. 



The night guard understood a little of the native 

 languages, so he stood behind our chairs and told 

 us in Swahili the meaning of some of the repeated 

 phrases. 



"This has been a glorious day: few safaris have 

 had so glorious a day." 



"The masters looked upon the fierce lions and did 

 not run away." 



"Brave men without other weapons will never- 

 theless kill with a knife." 



"The masters' mothers must be brave women, the 

 masters are so brave." 



"The white woman went hunting, and so were 

 many lions killed." 



The last one pleased Billy. She felt that at last 

 she was appreciated. 



We sat there spellbound by the weird savagery of 

 the spectacle — the great licking fire, the dancing, 

 barbaric figures, the rise and fall of the rhythm, the 

 dust and shuffle, the ebb and flow of the dance, the 

 dim, half-guessed groups swaying in the darkness — 

 and overhead the calm tropic night. 



At last, fairly exhausted, they stopped. Some one 

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