TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND 
191 
level with my pony I blazed at the nearest buck, but 
as I am no good at all at shooting from the saddle I 
missed gloriously, and the confused and startled animal 
fled helter skelter, and dashed headlong into Cecily, 
who, not ready for the unexpected joust, went flying 
with the impact. Fortunately oryx carry their heads 
high when at the gallop, so she wasn’t really hurt, 
only winded. It does take one’s breath a bit to be 
cannonaded into by a flying buck of the size of an 
oryx. I think this one was the last we saw for some 
time, as this variety is very scarce in the Mijertain 
and Haweea country, 
The Somali looked very much astonished, and after 
remarking a few not understood sentences, took to a 
course of signalling of which we hadn’t the code. We 
agreed between ourselves that the man meant his karia 
was “ over there,” so we windmilled back with our arms 
to demonstrate we lived “ over here,” which thoroughly 
mystified and fogged him. He made things a trifle 
clearer by pointing to his mouth, and pretending to eat, 
which could not mean anything but “ an invitation to 
lunch would be acceptable.” We nodded benignly and 
signed to him to follow us, and rode back to camp. 
He gorged on oryx, like all the rest, and seemed to be 
about to put himself on the strength of the caravan, 
dawdling round until later on in the evening. We 
seemed to act on these wandering spirits like a fly- 
paper does on flies, but not wanting any more stickers 
I bade Clarence ask our friend if they wouldn’t be 
missing him at home. And the last I saw of our 
visitor was his outlined figure, in tattered tobe, riding 
