AT GRIPS WITH THE LION 79 



to the camp and bring my old riding mule to meet 

 me, a great argument arose as to which two should 

 go, for they all seemed frightened at the thought 

 of being separated from each other. I could hear 

 them discussing who should go : " Marpo must go. 

 No, Marparonga must go. No, Shara must go/' 

 etc. etc. Finally they decided that two Makwengo 

 must go to the camp for the mule — of course the 

 worst two who could be picked ; not that it made 

 any difference, for the two little bushmen had not 

 the least intention of going. 



All this jabber made me so mad, that suddenly 

 I felt quite strong again, and, getting up, straight 

 away I managed to walk home to my camp quite 

 easily. My boys were terribly frightened, and 

 I knew there was a chance — especially if they 

 thought I might die — of the whole lot bolting and 

 leaving me alone in the camp ; the fear of being 

 blamed for a white man's death, and perhaps some 

 superstition as well, might quite easily make 

 them clear out en masse, simply through pure 

 fright. 



On the way back to the camp we passed close 

 to a tree bearing a small fruit with a taste not 

 unlike that of an apple. The bushmen called 

 this tree " naharnie," and Qumano and Boombo, 

 like the children they are, forgetting temporary 

 troubles, immediately ran to gather some handfuls 

 of the fruit. It was always a source of amusement 

 in my camp that I should be so anxious to pick 

 up and occasionally air my knowledge of the 



