End of Somali 



couldn't fire for fear of hitting one, so I whistled 

 up my "syce" and sent him galloping on to 

 separate the wounded bull from the rest. Unfor- 

 tunately my proper syce was hors de combat that 

 day, having been a candidate for cascara tabloids 

 overnight, and the camel-man who replaced him 

 was a fool. First, he started after the wrong group 

 of sig, and, being recalled, came galloping madly 

 back past the dead sig, his pony shied, and he 

 flew over its head on to Mother Earth. I then 

 got on the pony myself, and singling out the 

 bull, started to ride him; he, however, warmed 

 up sounder every stride, and I couldn't gain an 

 inch. The ground was full of ant-bear holes, and 

 I nearly came down once or twice, so I couldn't 

 go as fast as I wished. I once or twice jumped 

 off for a shot, but he always gained so during the 

 operation that it was useless to fire. I daren't 

 fire from the saddle ; the ground was too bad for 

 a cocked rifle at a gallop. Eventually I headed 

 him round towards camp, and we caused great 

 excitement by passing within a quarter of a mile ; 

 here my real syce joined in on another pony, and 

 about a dozen camel-men with spears, but though 

 we rode and ran till dark, we never got any closer 

 to our quarry, so marked where we left off and 

 went home. 



Next morning I rode off at daybreak, passing 

 crowds more sig, which I didn't interfere with. 



167 



