222 IN AFRICA 



ing ; and yet at the same time I had a positive con- 

 viction that I was not alone in the tent. I wondered 

 if it could be a leopard, or some small member of 

 the cat tribe. I knew that it wasn't a dog, for there 

 were no dogs anywhere in the vicinity of the camp. 

 As the minutes went by without any hostile move 

 from the darkness, I decided to let whatever it was 

 stay until it got ready to depart. So I went to sleep. 



Once more in the night I was awakened by a 

 noise in the tent and as nearly as I could diagnose 

 the situation, the noise came from under my cot. 

 But, I reasoned, if the animal is there, it's behaving 

 itself and if it were on mischief bent it would have 

 transacted its business long before. So I went to 

 sleep again. 



Just at dawn the clarion crow of a rooster came 

 from under my bed. It was one of the roosters the 

 cook had bought from a Boer settler and had come 

 in to escape the coldness of the night air without. 

 It was a most agreeable surprise, for there was a 

 homelike sound in the crow of the rooster that was 

 pleasantly reminiscent of the banks of the Wabash 

 far away. 



After Little Wanderobo Dog became "accli- 

 mated" to the warm and friendly atmosphere of 

 hospitality of the camp, he began to show evidences 

 of tact and diplomacy. He bestowed his attentions, 

 with unerring impartiality to all of us. In the even- 

 ing, and frequently during the day, he would pay 

 ceremonial visits to each of the four tents of the 

 msungu, as the white people are called. First he 



