THROUGH THE KEDONG VALLEY, B.E.A. 165 
during the drought of last December thirteen buffalo ( Bos caffer 
Badcliffei) fell in and died a miserable death, trampling on 
each other. No one could approach the place, for as long as they 
were alive the remainder of the herd kept guard over them. 
For an hour and a half we marched up the rocky slopes 
forming the sides of the old volcano, and for another hour we 
trekked across a grassy plain leading into the mouth of the 
crater, which was many miles across. The smaller crater we 
could see half a day away in one corner of the larger crater. 
It was full of fine trees and vegetation. The sides, we were told, 
are very precipitous, being 300 feet sheer in places, and it is 
said that no one can get into it — hence the title of the ‘ Lost 
Continent 5 which it has been dubbed. A mile inside the big 
crater we halted and, bidding our ‘ friends ’ ‘ Good-bye,’ turned 
back, sadder, wiser, and most certainly footsorer. We mutually 
agreed that never before was such a ‘ had ’ or ‘ take in.’ To 
drag poor blister-footed wayfarers up the mountain to look 
on a great bare grassy plain whilst incomparably superior 
scenery was below made it difficult to express our feelings. 
While Mr. Bush was off after a kongoni, I started back a 
short cut with my boy, and crossed half a dozen dry river- 
beds full of vegetation. In the sand I came upon numbers of 
lion tracks and very fresh traces of rhino. Camp was reached 
at 1 p.m. Later in the day, when it was cooler, we sallied out 
near camp with some beaters, and I shot a bare-throated spur- 
fowl on the wing. This bird (Pternistes infuscatus) is larger 
than a partridge, and the bare skin of the throat is brilliant 
yellow shading into crimson nearer the beak. 
Mr. Bush shot a fine bustard ( Eu'podotis maculi'pennis) 
both of which were made up for the Museum. 
July 21, 1915. — Up at 4.30. At this time of day the 
temperature is bitterly cold owing to the altitude. About 5.20 
the first flush of dawn appeared in the east, and ten minutes 
later we were just able to see, so started off. For the first mile I 
rode the mule, but as she fell through mole-holes at every few 
yards, I decided on my own feet. As it grew light we heard a 
most weird and human-like bleating which our boys said was 
made by the newly- dropped young of Thompson’s gazelle 
( Gazella Thomsoni). There were great herds of Grant’s gazelles 
