THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



mage of these villanous mauraders, to the wrinkled 

 countenance of the grateful weary old savage, I could 

 not fan a spark of regret. And from the straight line 

 of their retreating flight I like to think that the rest 

 of the flock never came back, but took their toll 

 from the wider fields of the plateau above. 



Next day we reentered the game-haunted wilder- 

 ness, nor did we see any more native villages until 

 many weeks later we came into the country of the 

 Wakamba. 



t70 



