The Eastern Congo 



(or rather " jugged " — for he drank it by the jug-full) on 

 native beer, and when in this state he was quite useless 

 but poUte — not quite accou'ntable for his actions as you 

 shall hear. 



The sun was just tipping the horizon as we made our way 

 along the open but misty dambo on this morning, examining 

 as we went the different spoors leading to the valley bottom. 

 Kamwendo, I noticed, had had a " thick " night, but his 

 conscience pricking him, I suppose, was frightfully willing 

 to do his best and therefore was some distance ahead looking 

 for fresh indications of the quarry we sought. The mist was 

 thick at the time but he was just discernible, when suddenly, 

 down he went on hands and knees, and started to crawl away 

 from me, looking intently meanwhile at something beyond 

 him which, owing to the fog, was lost to my view. Kamwendo, 

 of course, knew I was looking for an extra big elephant, but 

 I was quite at a loss to know why he was down on all fours, 

 in an open treeless dambo that would hardly hide a rabbit. 

 I watched him for some seconds as he crawled on into the mist 

 and guessing that anyhow something was up, I ran lightly 

 to join him. Upon reaching the spot, the object he was 

 stalking with such supreme care was at once apparent, for 

 looming out of the mist, close ahead of us, was the form of 

 a big tusker, spouting, as it seemed, a cloud of white smoke 

 from his trunk and mouth, as he moved slowly along. This 

 weird appearance was easily accounted for by the elephant's 

 condensing breath on the chilly atmosphere. The sight, 

 however, was one too much for poor Kamwendo. His fuddled 

 brain, full of my instructions that he was to make sure before 

 starting that any elephant we proposed to follow was a big 

 one, combined with the effect of the aforementioned dragon- 



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