TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND 51 
green, his legs yellow, and all else of him shone 
resplendent. The cook made a bustard stew, and 
very good it tasted. We did not need to feel selfish, 
feasting so royally, for birds are not looked on with 
any favour by Somalis, though they do not refuse to 
eat them. I think it is because no bird, even an 
ostrich, can grow big enough to make the meal seem 
really worth while to a people who, though willing 
enough to go on short commons if occcasion forces, 
enjoy nothing less than a leg of mutton per man. 
Cecily, lucky person, shot a wart-hog, coming on 
him just as he was backing in to the little pied-a-terre 
they make for themselves. She did deserve her luck, 
for as I was out, and not able to help her, she had to 
dissect her prize alone. Pig is unclean to the Somali. 
Even the cook, who claimed to be “ all same English,” 
was not English enough for this. We kept the tushes, 
and ate the rest. The meat was the most palatable of 
any we had tasted so far. 
I bagged a wandering aoul, not at all a sporting shot. 
I got the buck in the near fore, and but for its terrible 
lameness I should never have come up with it at all. 
His wound, like Mercutio’s, sufficed. One might as 
well try to win the Derby on a cab-horse as come up 
with even a wounded buck on any of the steeds we 
possessed. I ambled along, and so slowly that the 
buck was outstripping the pony. I slipped off then, 
and running speedily, came within excellent range, 
and put the poor thing out of his pain. His head 
was the finest of his kind we obtained. 
The horns differ considerably, and I have in my 
