CHAPTER XXI 
THE WILD MAN OF THE GOLAMBEPO MOUNTAINS 
Some years ago, I was hunting in the Golambepo 
Mountains that fringe the eastern shores of Lake 
Nyassa, and my camp was pitched near the 
Letombochie stream. The country that sweeps 
from the Golambepo to the Awembe Mountains, 
with lofty ridge and deep ravine, is perhaps the 
most romantic that it has been my lot to see. 
Early in the morning, snowy mists cap the peaks, 
and from their chilly heights, clear, cold rivulets 
leap and dash, shining in the sunlight, to the warm 
valleys far below. High up, where the vegetation 
is stunted, the aspect is bleak and heartless, and, 
gradually, the flora, as if gaining strength in the 
descent, like some mountain stream, becomes more 
and more beautiful and finally bursts into wild 
tropical luxuriance in the heat of the lowlands. In 
the uplands, the air is so cool that, on occasions, for 
want of other fuel, we have been obliged to gather 
dry elephant dung for a fire, in order to enjoy 
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