230 IN AFRICA 



we found our faithful follower at his accustomed 

 post, stanch, firm and true to his colors, which were 

 black and tan. 



But alas, there comes a time when the best of 

 friends must part. And the dark day came when I 

 saw Little Wanderobo Dog for the last time. It 

 was at Escarpment. Our long months of hunting 

 were over. Our horses and porters and all our 

 equipment were on the train bound for Nairobi, 

 where we were to settle our aif airs and leave Africa 

 and its happy hunting ground. Little Wanderobo 

 Dog had been let out of his first-class compartment 

 in the train and was running up and down the plat- 

 form, wigwagging messages of gladness with his 

 tail and sniffing friends and strangers with dog- 

 like curiosity. Some friends of ours were at the 

 train to say howdy-do and to shake our hands, and 

 with these the little dog was soon on friendly terms. 



When the train whistle blew and the bell was 

 rung and some more whistles blew and more bells 

 were rung, Little Wanderobo Dog was taken back 

 into his car. The last good-bys were said and we 

 were off for Nairobi. Suddenly there was a star- 

 tled cry, a whisk of a tail, and the dog was gone 

 out of the car window. He lit on his nose, but as 

 far back as we could see he sat in the middle of the 

 next track and gazed at the receding train. Two 

 days later Mrs. Tarlton came down from Escarp- 

 ment and said that she had rescued the dog and 

 that he was installed in the hospitable home of Mrs. 

 GETampson, where he would remain until he rejoined 



