ON THE STONY ATHI 
235 
grass on an opposite bluff, made a sudden spring forward. 
There ensued much fuss and action, the great wings 
being spread out downwards (as a sparrow-hawk covers 
over its prey), while some furious stamps of its foot 
were administered ere the reptile was finally pouched. 
Also, on the day when I finally secured my first wilde¬ 
beest bull, after following the blood-spoor for hours— 
almost to the Kikuyu forest—I chanced, in a lonely 
group of thorn-trees, on a huge flat stick-built nest. It 
contained small bones, skulls, and the vertebrae of 
serpents, others lying strewn beneath. This I thought 
would belong to some eagle or vulture; but Ali asserted 
it was a secretary’s nest, and was probably correct, as I 
now read that these singular birds do breed so, in trees. 
One must not leave the Athi without mentioning 
the ticks. They were not so bad in September, but in 
January they are a terror, attacking all the softest parts 
of one’s body, and burrowing into the flesh, till one 
resembles a “target.” Everyday one’s tent-boy must 
remove them. A much larger variety attacks animals, 
and my poor pony “ Goldfinch ” suffered severely. 
These blood-suckers when removed in the morning were 
of the size of hazel-nuts. They, in manifold varieties, 
also infest the game, and it has been loosely stated that 
until the ticks (and the game) are utterly cleared out, 
no cattle can thrive here. That, however, needs proof. 
Nature has arrayed more formidable opponents than the 
tick to man’s conquest of the wilds. A first difficulty 
will be the want of water. Throughout the 150 miles 
of the Athi Plains, there run but these two rivers—and 
they largely dry at certain seasons. But the wrack and 
drifted rubbish lodged high up in the branches of river¬ 
side trees, evidence heavy floods at times. It remains to 
be seen if that flood-water can be conserved and utilised. 
A minor nuisance to the hunter is the wait-a-bit 
thorn. At this season (January) it assumes a soft 
velvety-green foliage almost inviting to the touch; but 
woe to the hand that grasps it. An even worse man- 
trap are its dead thin shoots, hardly distinguishable 
