74 SPORT AND TRAVEL PAPERS 



we came upon a water-hole in the dry bed of a mountain stream. 

 This was evidently a favourite drinking-place for koodoo and 

 tetel, of which latter antelope we had at different times seen 

 three splendid bulls ; although offering tempting shots, I had 

 refrained from firing, being very anxious to avoid delay. On 

 one bank of the pool was a hunter's tiny reed hut, where, the 

 guide told me, the Dembela sportsmen waited at night for any- 

 thing which might come to drink. Here we rested about twenty 

 minutes, had our luncheon and a good drink, and then crossed 

 an undulating table-land, covered with a short, dry grass, and 

 utterly devoid of any track. The route taken by the guide 

 gradually became worse and worse ; riding was quite out of 

 the question indeed, already during the last two hours I had 

 walked and led the pony, as much more comfortable for both. 

 About 4 p.m. it became evident to me that the guide had quite 

 lost his way, or that he was, perhaps, misleading me purposely ; 

 for we had made the complete circuit of a sugar-loaf hill, whereby 

 we must have wasted at least two hours. 



" We next climbed up a steep, stony slope for about two miles, 

 and then followed a long descent down the dry bed of a mountain 

 stream, we stumbling about among huge boulders and great 

 rocks worn smooth and slippery by the foaming torrent which 

 grinds them together as it rushes down between them during the 

 rains, until we came to a narrow gorge leading into the higher 

 mountain ranges. Here was found the skeleton of a lately killed 

 elephant. After crossing the gorge we struck another dry river- 

 bed, which we followed until it apparently ended at the foot of a 

 precipitous rock, some 50 feet high. By this time the sun had 

 set, and it was only with the very greatest difficulty that my 

 Abyssinian pony, sure-footed as a cat though he was, could 

 struggle up the bank on one side of this rock. Long ere this 

 it had become very apparent to me that all chance of reaching 

 the Dembela village that night had gone, and there seemed 

 every probability of our having to make what the American 

 buffalo-hunters call a ' dry camp.' At 7 p.m., however, whether 

 by pure luck, or from previous knowledge of the ground, our 

 guide brought us to a pool, about 100 yards long, in the dry bed 

 of another stream, which he called the ' Mareb,' but which, no 

 doubt, was only a tributary of that river. Utterly tired out by 

 a most fatiguing march, we drank heartily of the anything but 



