80 
IN AFRICA 
A luncheon, with fruit, meat, curry and a pastry 
is ready by the time we are, and then we smoke or 
sleep through the broiling midday hours. Mr. 
Stephenson—or “Fred,” as he is with us—and I 
go out on a scouting expedition and look for good 
specimens to add to our collection of horns or to 
get food for the porters. Sometimes the whole 
party went out, either photographing charging 
rhinos or shooting, hut this part of the daily 
program was usually too varied to generalize as 
part of the daily doings. Several porters went with 
each of us to bring in the game, which there is rarely 
any uncertainty of securing. 
In the evening we return and find our baths of 
hot water ready. We take off our heavy hunting 
boots and slip into the soft mosquito boots. After 
which dinner is ready, and our menu is strangely 
varied. Sometimes we have kongoni steaks, at 
other times we have the heart of waterbuck or the 
liver of bushbuck or impalla. Twice we had rhino 
tongue and once rhino tail soup. We eat, and at six 
o’clock the darkness of night suddenly spreads over 
the land. We talk over our several adventures of 
the afternoon, some of which may be quite thrill¬ 
ing, and then, with camp chairs drawn around the 
great camp-fire, and with the sentinel askari pacing 
back and forth, we spend a drowsy hour in talking. 
Gradually the sounds of night come on. Off there 
a hyena is howling or a zebra is barking, and we 
know that through all those shadowy masses of trees 
the beasts of prey are creeping forth for their 
