NAIROBI RACES 
225 
CH. X] 
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 beauti¬ 
fully. The bulbuls were the most noticeable singers, 
but there were many others. The dark ant-eating chats 
haunted the dusky roads on the outskirts 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 
continually, 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 
Ivermit rode, were capital fun. The white people— 
army officers, Government officials, farmers from the 
country round about, and their wives — rode to the 
races on ponies or even on camels, or drove up in rick¬ 
shaws, 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 womenkind 
gaudy in crimson, blue, and saffron. The constabulary, 
Indian and native, were in neat uniforms and well set 
15 
