THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



of my four obstreperous friends, and I thought 1 

 counted four reluctant departures. Then, with 

 considerable doubt, I descended from my ant hill 

 and hurried down the slope, stumbling over grass 

 hummocks, colliding with bushes, tangling with 

 vines — but progressing in a gratifyingly rhinoless 

 condition. Five minutes cautious but rapid feeling 

 my way brought me through the jungle. Shortly 

 after I raised the campfires; and so got home. 



The next two days were repetitions, with slight 

 variation, of this experience, minus the rhinos! 

 Starting from camp before daylight we were only 

 in time to see the herd — always aggravatingly on 

 the other side of the cover, no matter which side we 

 selected for our approach, slowly grazing into the 

 dense jungle. And always they emerged so late 

 and so far away that our very best efforts failed to 

 get us near them before dark. The margin was 

 always so narrow, however, that our hopes were kept 

 alive. 



On the fourth day, which must be our last in 

 Longeetoto, we found that the herd had shifted to 

 fresh cover three miles along the base of the moun- 

 tains. We had no faith in those buffaloes, but about 

 half-past three we sallied forth dutifully and took 

 position on a hill overlooking the new hiding place. 

 This consisted of a wide grove of forest trees varied 



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