THE SEFARI 45 



the gunboy who has, they imagine, failed them. They 

 themselves only are to blame. Far more natives are mauled, 

 tossed or killed than the white men they serve. It may 

 require some nerve to follow dangerous game, when wounded, 

 into thick cover, even when you have a powerful rifle in 

 your hands, and are confident of your power to instan- 

 taneously use it. But it surely requires far greater courage 

 to do so, where you carry another man's rifle, which under 

 no circumstances are you permitted to fire. Yet is this 

 the gunboy's fate. He depends entirely on his bwana> 

 and many a bwana proves but a broken reed to trust to. 

 All the same, no gunboy should be permitted to fire the rifle 

 he carries. There can be no two opinions on this point. 

 Yet a sharp lesson, enforcing immediate obedience to such 

 fire discipline, is often needed. 



When my first long-waited-for lion charged and charged 

 very quickly, I saw out of the corner of my eye that Dooda, 

 my Somali who squatted beside me, was on the point of 

 firing my heavy double .450 cordite rifle (my reserve gun) 

 at the great beast whose head and tail could alone be seen 

 as he bounded toward us. I had to give him a sharp jog 

 with my right elbow under the jaw which put both him 

 and the rifle out of action for several minutes. When the 

 affair was over and the fine beast turned "paws up," 

 Dooda, to do him justice, forgot for the moment his rude 

 reminder, and cheered lustily, but as soon as the first con- 

 gratulations were over, he ruefully pointed to his jaw and 

 groaned. "You do kill me!" It was not quite as bad as 

 that. And though, on another occasion, he fell back on 

 me so rapidly that he almost knocked me down, he never 

 fired one of my guns, unless I told him to. On the whole, 

 Dooda was a good gunbearer, and though he had a genius 

 for making other men do his work, he made no trouble 

 in our sefari. 



My Wakamba " Kongoni," however, was a man after 



