230 
IN AFRICA 
we found our faithful follower at his accustomed 
post, stanch, firm and true to his colors, which were 
black and tan. 
But alas, there comes a time when the best of 
friends must part. And the dark day came when I 
saw Little Wanderobo Dog for the last time. It 
was at Escarpment. Our long months of hunting 
were over. Our horses and porters and all our 
equipment were on the train bound for Nairobi, 
where we were to settle our affairs and leave Africa 
and its happy hunting ground. Little Wanderobo 
Dog had been let out of his first-class compartment 
in the train and was running up and down the plat¬ 
form, wigwagging messages of gladness with his 
tail and sniffing friends and strangers with dog¬ 
like curiosity. Some friends of ours were at the 
train to say howdy-do and to shake our hands, and 
with these the little dog was soon on friendly terms. 
When the train whistle blew and the bell was 
rung and some more whistles blew and more bells 
were rung, Little Wanderobo Dog was taken back 
into his car. The last good-bys were said and we 
were off for Nairobi. Suddenly there was a star¬ 
tled cry, a whisk of a tail, and the dog was gone— 
out of the car window. He lit on his nose, but as 
far back as we could see he sat in the middle of the 
next track and gazed at the receding train. Two 
days later Mrs. Tarlton came down from Escarp¬ 
ment and said that she had rescued the dog and 
that he was installed in the hospitable home of Mrs. 
Hampson, where he would remain until he rejoined 
