222 
IN AFRICA 
ing; and yet at the same time I had a positive con¬ 
viction that I was not alone in the tent. I wondered 
if it could be a leopard, or some small member of 
the cat tribe. I knew that it wasn’t a dog, for there 
were no dogs anywhere in the vicinity of the camp. 
As the minutes went by without any hostile move 
from the darkness, I decided to let whatever it was 
stay until it got ready to depart. So I went to sleep. 
Once more in the night I was awakened by a 
noise in the tent and as nearly as I could diagnose 
the situation, the noise came from under my cot. 
But, I reasoned, if the animal is there, it’s behaving 
itself and if it were on mischief bent it would have 
transacted its business long before. So I went to 
sleep again. 
Just at dawn the clarion crow of a rooster came 
from under my bed. It was one of the roosters the 
cook had bought from a Boer settler and had come 
in to escape the coldness of the night air without. 
It was a most agreeable surprise, for there was a 
homelike sound in the crow of the rooster that was 
pleasantly reminiscent of the banks of the Wabash 
far away. 
After Little Wanderobo Dog became “accli¬ 
mated” to the warm and friendly atmosphere of 
hospitality of the camp, he began to show evidences 
of tact and diplomacy. He bestowed his attentions, 
with unerring impartiality to all of us. In the even¬ 
ing, and frequently during the day, he would pay 
ceremonial visits to each of the four tents of the 
msungu , as the white people are called. First he 
