MY WIFE HOLDS THE GUN 225 



be more considerate than he in little things and the 

 same held true of many of the boys. If Osa came in 

 tired, they had the pot boiling on the camp fire and 

 soon had a cup of tea ready. And they continually 

 watched out for wild animals and let her take no 

 unnecessary risks if they could prevent it. 



I have never seen the porters' eyes so vigilant 

 on the grass and path for those coiling cobras as when 

 she is along. Sometimes when I have berated them 

 I think they would have liked to see one strike me; 

 but there would be such a wail of native mourning go 

 up from the camp that all Africa would hear if any- 

 thing happened to Osa. 



There is no question about it, ours was an unnerv- 

 ing life for a woman. As all the rest of us were men I 

 suppose we didn't half give Osa credit for the shocks 

 her femininity must sometimes have received. For 

 even though she was the best sport in the world about 

 it all, she was still a woman. 



I remember one day we were jolting along in our 

 trucks over the awful trail near Mt. Kenya on the 

 way up to Lake Paradise when the car Osa was driv- 

 ing jolted over something soft and yielding. 



"Martin, Abdullah, come here. I've run over 

 someone!" she screamed. 



Coming to a stop with a jerk, I ran up, and flashed 

 my pocket lamp on the body of a native boy who 

 appeared to be about fifteen years old. His face was 



