Aug. 28, 1909.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
329 
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car, suffocated. It was carlessness on Sahid’s 
part, as it showed that they had not visited the 
car every time the train stopped. It is a very 
, true saying that you cannot find people to do 
1 things as you would yourself. That evening I 
received a telegram saying my boat would not 
arrive for ten days. It was more than annoy¬ 
ing, as if I had known it before, I could have 
trekked through French Somaliland and thus 
have saved heavy railway charges, besides an 
hotel bill and ten days’ keep of the horses. 
The French authorities at Djiboutil were far 
from pleasant and tried to prevent my taking 
water there and gave me a deal of trouble. Dur¬ 
ing my stay at Djiboutil five horses died, I 
think from sunstroke, as there was not a particle 
of shade and the sun was very fierce all day 
long. One rather funny incident occurred dur¬ 
ing my stay there. I saw one of the ponies was 
very sick, practically dying, and so made up my 
mind to shoot him, telling the boy to lead him 
down to the seashore, where I finished him with 
my revolver. This was reported to the gover¬ 
nor, who came down in a great state. “Mais 
Monsieur, pourquoi?” I replied, “'Monsieur, c'est 
le grand sport, a tirer les chevaux—I go to 
Addis-Abbeba and buy them on purpose so that 
I can have the pleasure of shooting them.” This 
annoyed him and so he promptly fined me seven 
francs, or made me pay that for the burial fees. 
At last, thank God, the boat arrived, but her 
accommodation for that number of horses was 
exceedingly bad. Here in French Somaliland I 
had again to pay export duty, not only on the 
horses, but the boys also. I explained that I 
had bought these ponies in Abyssinia and that 
they were in transit, but that made no differ¬ 
ence; pay I had to, and also duty on the hay 
that I had imported into the country for my 
journey. The expenses were large, but my only 
: idea was to get away and have done with it. I 
had to personally sling every head, first on to 
the lighter and from the lighter to the steamer 
and without, I am glad to say, any accident. I 
made the horses as comfortable as possible, rig¬ 
ging up long mangers out of canvas, and mak¬ 
ing the ship’s people put up awnings all round 
so as to shield them from the sun and the spray 
in rough weather, and I watered the stock twice 
a day at 10 a . m . and 4:30 p . m . The following 
morning we were at Aden, where we remained 
for the day. Here I took on another horse that 
belonged to the bank manager there. He had 
had an accident with it and sold it to me on 
most favorable terms. It did not take long to 
sling her aboard and we took on also thirty-two 
camels for Kismaya and then started once more 
for that port. 
Two days out and we had run into nasty 
weather and the horses commenced to suffer as 
well as the men. The latter would not try to 
do a stroke, but just lay down and groaned and 
my work was cut out, as I had to see for my¬ 
self that things were done. Several horses got 
sick with colic and one thing and another. I 
cured some, but others pegged out and we threw 
them overboard. The Abyssinians I made help 
the sailors in cleaning down the decks. After 
about four mornings they struck and I was 
forced to go to them and explain that they were 
now on the high seas and under the English 
flag, and unless they did their duty I should put 
the whole crowd in irons. This had the desired 
effect and they did fairly well for the remainder 
of the voyage. I dare say many readers are 
aware of the fact that a bottle of beer 
is an excellent stimulant for a sick horse. I 
had to use it on many, also a good deal of 
arsenic. On board the ship were some Ameri¬ 
can missionaries, three women and one man, 
who had tried their luck in Abyssinia, without 
much success apparently. They also were on 
their way to Nairobi. These good people were 
very strict in their views and took me to task 
for giving strong drink to the horses. They 
said, “Trust in the Lord and if he wishes the 
horse to live, it will live; let him be.” But I 
explained it was necessary to do also the little 
in my power to help. They used to dance up 
and down on the deck and say that the Lord 
was making them do so. When one of them 
had a bad attack of fever I begged him to take 
some of my medicine, but he would not do so, 
saying the Lord would cure him. He certainly 
got better, but suffered a good deal. Rounding 
Guardafin Cape it was blowing hard and a nasty 
sea running and day and night I had to be on 
watch. I got so tired and worn out that one 
night I turned in and was soon fast asleep, only 
to be awakened by the second officer who told 
me there was a row going on for’ard among 
the Abyssinians. It was some trivial quarrel, 
but took some time to quiet down. 
In a few days we reached Kismaya on the coast 
of English Somaliland, only stopping long enough 
to land the camels. Horses kept getting sick 
and some dying, but soon we saw the white 
houses of Mombasa, it having taken us ten days 
from Aden. My troubles were not yet over. 
Here, although help had been sent to meet me 
from Mr. M., nobody understood slinging the 
horses, and I had to repeat the job I had done 
at Djiboutil. Import duty of 20 per cent, ad 
valorem had also to be paid. The babu who 
represented the customs did not know a horse 
from a cow and put absurd values on the ponies, 
and I lost my temper, which only made matters 
worse. 
Two special trains were waiting at Mombasa 
to take us to Athi River Station, which is the 
nearest point to Mr. M.’s ranch. I insisted on 
not more than six animals in a car and made 
the railway company put wire meshing over 
the windows to exclude the tsetse fly, as we had 
to pass through several belts infested with these 
pests. The distance from Mombasa to Athi 
River is about 400 miles, but all trains had 
orders to give way to us and so we reached 
Athi about 4 o’clock the following afternoon 
with no loss. Here they were all malined or 
tested for glanders by the Government veteri¬ 
nary surgeons, but not one case was found. On 
detraining them they stampeded, but were,soon 
headed toward a bend of the river and thus 
stopped. Early next morning I started, leaving 
the horses to follow. They stampeded again 
and got mixed up with a large herd of zebras 
and congoni and went for miles, but in time 
were stopped and all brought in. Not long ago 
an Australian race mare got loose and ran with 
a herd of zebras. She was not caught for three 
weeks and the following day ran in a race for 
which she was entered and won. After arriv¬ 
ing at Mr. M.’s ranch my troubles were ended 
and I landed there 104 out of the 117 I started 
with from Addis-Abbeba. We sent back all the 
Abyssinians, and my little friend seemed very 
sorry and begged me to come back to Abyssinia 
soon and look him up. They are a curious race, 
but taken all around I found them decidedly good. 
In ending this up I must say that of all the 
trips I have ever made and looking back on it, 
this was by far the most interesting and pleas¬ 
ant, and should any of your readers make up a 
party to go either to East Africa, Somaliland 
or Abyssinia, count me in. 
His Last State 
By W. S. FERGUSON 
A SHUT-IN wintry Sunday, a heavy, drift¬ 
ing snow outside, a gray day indeed, 
sending one to the open grate fire for 
comfort. And what better incentive to memory 
was ever found than an open fire, now blazing 
and crackling, leaping up the chimney’s mouth, 
bringing to mind the swift outdoor life in all 
its glorious action and freedom from care and 
restraint—the days when one threw himself into 
the midst of work and play—and all work was 
play there—out of sheer enjoyment of the .life 
that knew none of the cares of the city; now 
burning lower in glowing coals, it tells of the 
restful life about other fires—camp-fires in the 
wilderness—of hours spent in silent communion 
with some good comrade over a pipe; perhaps 
a silent Indian, his sole companion. There is 
no sense of loneliness, no insecurity, about such 
a fire. Bolts and all other civilized precautions 
are forgotten. There, every moment is suffi¬ 
cient for itself and we are content. 
Across the room stands a cabinet—a home¬ 
made one, and valued because of that fact. This 
cabinet is the most individual piece of furniture 
in the home, and partly so because it holds the 
outfit that goes with me into the woods each 
year. Above the cabinet is the skin of a six- 
pound trout, mounted on birch bark by Toma, 
the Chippewa, and still retaining some touches 
of the brilliant coloring it had in life. There 
is the trophy and the rod that took it. The 
memory of the plucky fight put up by that big 
fish and the satisfaction I had in landing him 
unaided are still mine. Wealth like this is mine 
that can be measured by no standard yet de¬ 
vised, and which can neither be sold nor bar¬ 
tered—individual treasures, growing with each 
vacation period, whose numbers I count and re¬ 
count on evenings like this before the fire. 
These treasures truly represent a labor of 
love. Labor there was in their acquiring, and 
plenty of it, good, healthful labor, which tires 
but does not weaken; labor but not toil. The 
dividing line might be placed at dollars. Labor 
loses its zest and becomes plain, unvarnished 
toil when money value is put upon it. The 
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