THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



myself to waiting. For two hours this was not so 

 bad. I smoked, and rested up, and dried out before 

 my little fire. Then my fuel began to run low. I 

 arose and tore down all the remaining dead limbs 

 within the circle of my firelight. These were not 

 many, so I stepped out into the darkness for more. 

 Immediately I was warned back by a deep growl! 



The next hour was not one of such solid comfort. 

 I began to get parsimonious about my supply of 

 firewood, trying to use it in such a manner as to keep 

 up an adequate blaze, and at the same time to make 

 it last until Memba Sasa should return with the 

 men. I did it, though I got down to charred ends 

 before I was through. The old lioness hung around 

 within a hundred yards or so below, and the buffalo 

 herd, returning, filed by above, pausing to stamp and 

 snort at the fire. Finally, about nine o'clock, I made 

 out two lanterns bobbing up to me through the trees. 



The last incident to be selected from many ex- 

 periences with buffaloes took place in quite an un- 

 vislted district over the mountains from the Loleta 

 Plains. For nearly two months we had ranged far 

 in this lovely upland country of groves and valleys 

 and wide grass bottoms between hills, hunting for 

 greater kudu. One day we all set out from camp 

 to sweep the base of a range of low mountains 

 in search of a good specimen of Newman's harte- 



364 



