26 
African Game Trails 
ground-sheet and some poles, to make a 
litter in which the wounded man could be 
carried. While we were engaged in this 
field surgery another rhino was in sight half 
a mile off. 
Then on we went on the trail of the herd. 
It led straight across the open, under the 
blazing sun; and the heat was now terrific. 
At last, almost exactly at noon, Cuning- 
hame, who was leading, stopped short. He 
had seen the buffalo, which had halted, 
made a half-bend backwards on their 
tracks, and stood for their noonday rest 
among some scattered, stunted thorn-trees, 
leafless and yielding practically no shade 
whatever. A cautious stalk brought me to 
within a hundred and fifty yards. I merely 
wounded the one I first shot at, but killed 
another as the herd started to run. Leav¬ 
ing the skinners to take care of the dead 
animal, a fine cow, Cuninghame and I 
started after the herd, to see if the wounded 
one had fallen out. After a mile the trail 
led into some scant cover. 
Here the first thing we did 
was to run into another rhi¬ 
noceros. It was about sev¬ 
enty yards away, behind a 
thorn-tree, and began to 
move jerkily and abruptly 
to and fro, gazing toward 
us. “Oh, you malevolent 
old idiot,” I muttered, 
facing it with rifle cocked; 
then, as it did not charge, 
I added to Cuninghame, 
“Well, I guess it will let us' 
by, all right.” And let us 
by it did. We were anx¬ 
ious not to shoot it, both 
because in a country with 
no settlers a rhino rarely 
does harm, and I object to 
anything like needless 
butchery, and furthermore 
because we desired to avoid 
alarming the buffalo. Half 
a mile farther on we came on 
the latter, apparently past 
their fright. We looked 
them carefully over with 
our glasses; the wounded 
one was evidently not much 
hurt, and therefore I did 
not wish to kill her, for I 
did not need another cow; 
and there was no adult bull. So we did 
not molest them; and after a while they 
got our wind and went off at a lumbering 
gallop. Returning to the dead cow, we 
found the skin ready and marched back to 
camp, reaching it just as the moon rose, at 
seven; we had been away thirteen hours, 
with nothing to eat and only the tepid water 
in our canteens to drink. 
We were in the country of the Samburu, 
and several of their old men and warriors 
visited us at this camp. They are cattle¬ 
owning nomads like the Masai; but in ad¬ 
dition to cattle, sheep, and goats they own 
herds of camels, which they milk but do not 
use as beasts of burden. ■ In features they 
are more like Somalis than negroes. 
Near this camp was the remains of the 
boma or home camp of Arthur Neuman, 
once the most famous elephant hunter be¬ 
tween the Tana and Lake Rudolf. Neu¬ 
man, whose native name was Nyama 
Yango, was a strange, moody man who 
