THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



About the middle of the morning we met a Govern- 

 ment runner, a proud youth, young, lithe, with 

 many ornaments and bangles; his red skin glisten- 

 ing; the long blade of his spear, bound around with 

 a red strip to signify his office, slanting across 

 his shoulder; his buffalo hide shield slung from it 

 over his back; the letter he was bearing stuck in a 

 cleft stick and carried proudly before him as a 

 priest carries a cross to the heathen — in the 

 pictures. He was swinging along at a brisk pace, 

 but on seeing us drew up and gave us a smart mili- 

 tary salute! 



At one point where the path went level and 

 straight for some distance, we were riding in an 

 absolute solitude. Suddenly from the jungle on 

 either side and about fifty yards ahead of us leaped a 

 dozen women. They were dressed in grass skirts, 

 and carried long narrow wooden shields painted 

 white and brown. These they clashed together, 

 shrieked shrilly, and charged down on us at full 

 speed. When within a few yards of our horses* 

 noses they came to a sudden halt, once more clashed 

 their shields, shrieked, turned and scuttled away as 

 fast as their legs could carry them. At a hundred 

 yards they repeated the performance; and charged 

 back at us again. Thus advancing and retreating, 

 shrieking high, hitting the wooden shields with re- 



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