TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND 165 
the blackened waste, and explained they had waited 
and waited for the rhino to break cover, expecting the 
rush every second, and the flames and heat drove them 
almost out of range. Nothing happened, and it was 
not until the whole brake of thorn was a heap of ashes 
that they came on the pachyderm at last. His charred 
bulk lay in the smouldering embers, and until the 
place cooled it was impossible to retrieve his horns. 
What a pity and what a waste ! We both cursed the 
fire stick and our haste. One bullet, Cecily’s, I surmise, 
must have penetrated the rhino’s heart, and after 
careering on for a short way the stricken animal settled 
down silently to die. We were intensely put out. 
Not even the beautiful lioness allayed our disappoint- 
ment and chagrin. 
After a rest and a meal in camp we returned to the 
scene of the still smoking barbecue. The vultures 
rose in a slothful lazy mass, and perched again around 
us. The hide of the rhino was too roasted to be of 
any use, and the men commenced sawing off the horns, 
a slow, weary job which we left them to finish. Bed 
was what I prayed for just then. I was wearied out. 
It had been our biggest, hottest day yet, and next 
morning, Sunday too, I deliberately and carefully de- 
tained Morpheus — what a loop-hole for a Somali 
scandal — until 9 a.m. 
