TO THE UASIN GISHU 
337 
pounds, being smaller than those Heller had trapped while 
skinning the first bull elephant I shot in the Kenia forest. 
Good Ali, my tent boy, kept bowls of the sweet-scented 
jessamine on our dining-table; now that there were four 
of us together again we used the dining-tent, which I had 
discarded on the Guaso Nyero trip. Bakhari had been 
rather worn down by the work on the Guaso Nyero, and in 
his place I had taken Kongoni, a Wakamba with filed 
teeth, like my second gun-bearer, Gouvimali, but a 
Moslem—although his Moslemism did not go very deep. 
Kongoni was the best gun-bearer I had yet had, very willing, 
and excellent both at seeing and tracking game. Kermit’s 
two gun-bearers were Juma Yohari, a coal-black Swahili 
Moslem, and Kassitura, a Christian negro from Uganda. 
Both of them were as eager to do everything for Kermit 
as mine were to render me any service great or small; and 
in addition they were capital men for their special work. 
Juma was always smiling and happy, and was a high 
favorite among his fellows; at lunch, when we had any, if 
I gave my own followers some of the chocolate, or whatever 
else it was that I had put in my saddle pocket, I always 
noticed that they called up Yohari to share it. He it was 
who would receive the colored cards from my companions’ 
tobacco pouches, or from the packages of chocolate, and 
after puzzling over them until he could himself identify 
the brilliantly colored ladies, gentlemen, little girls, and 
wild beasts, would volubly explain them to the others. 
Kassitura, quite as efficient and hard-working, was a huge, 
solemn black man, as faithful and uncomplaining a soul as 
I ever met. Kermit had picked him out from among the 
porters to carry his camera, and had then promoted him 
