30 SAFARI 



clay base sanded like a barroom floor, with little sad 

 bunches of grass here and there, a mournful-looking 

 and lonely thorn tree perhaps and only an occasional 

 little mound which reminded me of the old theatrical 

 seas a generation ago, with their great sheets of 

 fabric to get an ocean effect while boys' heads bobbed 

 up and down imdemeath to make the waves. Well, 

 there on the Kaisoot Desert, it seemed as if only an 

 occasional boy were on the job, so rare were the 

 waves. The vast expanse was like a grey sea asleep. 

 Now and then, too, as I rode, I would see on this 

 moth-eaten mangy desert a hyena, like a hideous 

 yellow dog with his fore-legs longer than the rear, 

 making him walk as if his back were broken. 

 Occasionally, as I neared the infrequent waterholes, 

 I would startle a herd of zebra, which would kick 

 up their heels and then gallop away only a little 

 more real than ghosts because of their black stripes 

 and buckskin. When nearing the Ndoto mountains, 

 once up a donga (a rough craggy red gully like our 

 Montana coulees) I startled a lion over a zebra which 

 lay on its side, its belly swelling and its legs out 

 straight in the rigor of death. Nearby lurked little 

 doglike jackals. The natives say that the jackal is 

 in cahoots with the lion ; that the jackal is his scout 

 or little black bellhop and tells him of easy kills. 

 Then when he has performed his task well, the lion 

 allows him his commission or tips in nice zebra or 



