228 
AFRICAN GAME TRAILS 
mares; their misfortune in no way abated their savagery 
toward one another, and as the limited space forbade the 
escape of the weaker, the stallions fought to the death with 
teeth and hoofs during the first night, and no less than 
twenty were killed outright or died of their wounds. 
Most of the time in Nairobi we were the guests of ever- 
hospitable McMillan, in his low, cool house, with its broad, 
vine-shaded veranda, running around all four sides, and its 
garden, fragrant and brilliant with innumerable flowers. 
Birds abounded, singing beautifully; the bulbuls were the 
most noticeable singers, but there were many others. The 
dark ant-eating chats haunted the dusky roads on the out¬ 
skirts of the town, and were interesting birds; they were 
usually found in parties, flirted their tails up and down 
as they sat on bushes or roofs or wires, sang freely in chorus 
until after dusk, and then retired to holes in the ground for 
the night. A tiny owl with a queer little voice called con¬ 
tinually not only after nightfall, but in the bright afternoons. 
Shrikes spitted insects on the spines of the imported cactus 
in the gardens. 
It was race week, and the races, in some of which Kermit 
rode, were capital fun. The white people—army officers, 
government officials, farmers from the country roundabout, 
and their wives—rode to the races on ponies or even on 
camels, or drove up in rickshaws, in gharries, in bullock 
tongas, occasionally in automobiles, most often in two- 
wheel carts or rickety hacks drawn by mules and driven by 
a turbaned Indian or a native in a cotton shirt. There 
were Parsees, and Goanese dressed just like the Europeans. 
There were many other Indians, their picturesque women- 
kind gaudy in crimson, blue, and saffron. The constabu- 
