HUNTING IN THE RIFT VALLEY 17 
The sun was nearly dipping when, after a twelve- 
hours’ march, we reached our camp, already pitched in 
a lovely grove by the Enderit—here merely a muddy 
creek dawdling in the depths of a bush-clad donga. 
While we dined that happy evening under a spreading 
mimosa, the evening’s peace was broken by our friends 
the crowned cranes filing overhead in noisy skeins to 
roost in the tall fever-trees beyond. Ducks were flighting 
in the gloom up the river, and, ere we turned in, lions 
commenced to “ call ” in the woods below. 
crowned hornbill —Lophoceros melanoleucus. 
