THE GUASO NYERO 
311 
hunter, of bold and adventure-loving temper. With whites 
he was unsocial, living in this far-off region exactly like a 
native, and all alone among the natives; living in some 
respects too much like a native. But, from the native stand¬ 
point, and without making any effort to turn the natives 
into anything except what they were, he did them good, 
and left a deep impression on their minds. They talked to 
us often about him, in many different places; they would 
not believe that he was dead; and when assured it was 
so they showed real grief. At Meru boma, when we saw 
the Meru tribesmen dance, one of the songs they sung was: 
‘‘Since Nyama Yango came, our sheep graze untouched 
by the Samburu,” and, rather curiously, the Samburu sing 
a similar song reciting how he saved them from the fear 
of having their herds raided by the nomads farther north. 
After leaving this camp we journeyed up the Guaso 
Nyero for several days. The current was rapid and muddy, 
and there were beds of reeds and of the tall, graceful papy¬ 
rus. The country round about was a mass of stony, broken 
hills, and the river wound down among these, occasionally 
cutting its way through deep gorges, and its course being 
continually broken by rapids. Whenever on our hunts we 
had to cross it, we shouted and splashed and even fired 
shots, to scare the crocodiles. I shot one on a sandbar in 
the river. The man the rhino had wounded was carried 
along on a litter with the safari. 
Sometimes I left camp with my sais and gun-bearer 
before dawn, starting in the light of the waning moon, and 
riding four or five hours before halting to wait for the safari; 
on the way I had usually shot something for the table—a 
waterbuck, impalla, or gazelle. On other occasions Cun- 
