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slashed and so was his throat; insects were crawling 

 in the coagulated blood ; and when I turned him over 

 we saw that his back had been slashed very deep. 



Osa was trembling. 



" It is not your fault," I said to comfort her. "We 

 can charge that to leopards." 



But I had jumped to too swift a conclusion, for 

 Abdullah shook his head and said in gruff Swahili: 

 "Nothing that walks on four feet, something that 

 walks on two, did for him, Bwana." 



I next examined the kapandi in the little case 

 around his neck. This is the official document, or 

 working paper, which every native must carry to 

 show who is his present employer, who his last, 

 and is a great aid in catching deserters. I was glad to 

 find that it was not one of my own boys. Still, that 

 was small relief, for it opened up the possibility that 

 one of my force might have been the murderer. And 

 to back this murder theory we found, clutched in his 

 hand, little pebbles with which the boys sometimes 

 play a crude game of chance. 



I remember one ugly experience we had with 

 elephants when only Osa's nerve saved my life. 

 She was terribly frightened, just as often a brave 

 man is frightened. But in spite of her fear she stood 

 by her guns and made it possible for me to be alive 

 and write this story today. 



This happened before we built our Lake Paradise 



