io2 ADVENTURES OF AN ELEPHANT HUNTER ch. 
this God-forsaken, desolate region under a blinding, 
blistering sun, is, to put it idiomatically, not all 
beer and skittles. When parched with thirst at 
night, we fling ourselves down to dream of silver 
goblets of wine, deliciously cool, only to wake with 
parched tongues and realize that we still have some 
hours to stagger on ere we reach the longed-for 
goal—a filthy, perhaps evil-smelling pool at which 
all manner of unclean beasts quench their thirst. 
On arrival there, my boy makes me the fail-me- 
never drink of tea, a concoction that looks more 
like pea-soup than that heavenly beverage ; but 
thirst is insistent, and seasoning the liquor with a 
good dash of Scotch to remove the twinge, I gulp it 
down. Seeking the shade of some friendly bush, and 
incidentally having a good look round to see that no 
snakes are taking advantage of the same shelter, I 
fling my tortured body on the ground. Physically, 
I may rest but, mentally, I must be on the qui vive 
until darkness sets in, in case elephants should come 
to slake their thirst at the same vile water-hole. 
There is nothing for it but to live in hope and rouse 
my drooping energies with another draught of 
muddy tea and whisky, hoping that perhaps, on 
the morrow, some tuskers may fall to my rifle, as 
recompense for all this hardship. 
On Sunday morning, to resume my story, we 
came across the fresh foot-prints of the same three 
