the land of footprints-第44章

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These　wart…hogs　are　most　comical　brutes　from　whatever　angle　one　views　them。　They　have　a　patriarchal；　self…satisfied；　suburban　manner　of　complete　importance。　The　old　gentleman　bosses　his　harem　outrageously；　and　each　and　every　member　of　the　tribe　walks　about　with　short　steps　and　a　stuffy　parvenu　small…town　self…sufficiency。　One　is　quite　certain　that　it　is　only　by　accident　that　they　have　long　tusks　and　live　in　Africa；　instead　of　rubber…plants　and　self…made　business　and　a　pug…dog　within　commuters'　distance　of　New　York。　But　at　the　slightest　alarm　this　swollen　and　puffy　importance　breaks　down　completely。　Away　they　scurry；　their　tails　held　stiffly　and　straightly　perpendicular；　their　short　legs　scrabbling　the　small　stones　in　a　frantic　effort　to　go　faster　than　nature　had　intended　them　to　go。　Nor　do　they　cease　their　flight　at　a　reasonable　distance；　but　keep　on　going　over　hill　and　dale；　until　they　fairly　vanish　in　the　blue。　I　used　to　like　starting　them　off　this　way；　just　for　the　sake　of　contrast；　and　also　for　the　sake　of　the　delicious　but　impossible　vision　of　seeing　their　human　prototypes　do　likewise。

When　a　wart…hog　is　at　home；　he　lives　down　a　hole。　Of　course　it　has　to　be　a　particularly　large　hole。　He　turns　around　and　backs　down　it。　No　more　peculiar　sight　can　be　imagined　than　the　sardonically　toothsome　countenance　of　a　wart…hog　fading　slowly　in　the　dimness　of　a　deep　burrow；　a　good　deal　like　Alice's　Cheshire　Cat。　Firing　a　revolver；　preferably　with　smoky　black　powder；　just　in　front　of　the　hole　annoys　the　wart…hog　exceedingly。　Out　he　comes　full　tilt；　bent　on　damaging　some　one；　and　it　takes　quick　shooting　to　prevent　his　doing　so。

Once；　many　hundreds　of　miles　south　of　the　Tana；　and　many　months　later；　we　were　riding　quite　peaceably　through　the　country；　when　we　were　startled　by　the　sound　of　a　deep　and　continuous　roaring　in　a　small　brush　patch　to　our　left。　We　advanced　cautiously　to　a　prospective　lion；　only　to　discover　that　the　roaring　proceeded　from　the　depths　of　a　wart…hog　burrow。　The　reverberation　of　our　footsteps　on　the　hollow　ground　had　alarmed　him。　He　was　a　very　nervous　wart…hog。

On　another　occasion；　when　returning　to　camp　from　a　solitary　walk；　I　saw　two　wart…hogs　before　they　saw　me。　I　made　no　attempt　to　conceal　myself；　but　stood　absolutely　motionless。　They　fed　slowly　nearer　and　nearer　until　at　last　they　were　not　over　twenty　yards　away。　When　finally　they　made　me　out；　their　indignation　and　amazement　and　utter　incredulity　were　very　funny。　In　fact；　they　did　not　believe　in　me　at　all　for　some　few　snorty　moments。　Finally　they　departed；　their　absurd　tails　stiff　upright。


One　afternoon　F。　and　I；　hunting　along　one　of　the　wide　grass　bottom　lands；　caught　sight　of　a　herd　of　an　especially　fine　impalla。　The　animals　were　feeding　about　fifty　yards　the　other　side　of　a　small　solitary　bush；　and　the　bush　grew　on　the　sloping　bank　of　the　slight　depression　that　represented　the　dry　stream　bottom。　We　could　duck　down　into　the　depression；　sneak　along　it；　come　up　back　of　the　little　bush；　and　shoot　from　very　close　range。　Leaving　the　gunbearers；　we　proceeded　to　do　this。

So　quietly　did　we　move　that　when　we　rose　up　back　of　the　little　bush　a　lioness　lying　under　it　with　her　cub　was　as　surprised　as　we　were！

Indeed；　I　do　not　think　she　knew　what　we　were；　for　instead　of　attacking；　she　leaped　out　the　other　side　the　bush；　uttering　a　startled　snarl。　At　once　she　whirled　to　come　at　us；　but　the　brief　respite　had　allowed　us　to　recover　our　own　scattered　wits。　As　she　turned　I　caught　her　broadside　through　the　heart。　Although　this　shot　knocked　her　down；　F。　immediately　followed　it　with　another　for　safety's　sake。　We　found　that　actually　we　had　just　missed　stepping　on　her　tail！

The　cub　we　caught　a　glimpse　of。　He　was　about　the　size　of　a　setter　dog。　We　tried　hard　to　find　him；　but　failed。　The　lioness　was　an　unusually　large　one；　probably　about　as　big　as　the　female　ever　grows；　measuring　nine　feet　six　inches　in　length；　and　three　feet　eight　inches　tail　at　the　shoulder。

Billy　had　her　funny　times　housekeeping。　The　kitchen　department　never　quite　ceased　marvelling　at　her。　Whenever　she　went　to　the　cook…camp　to　deliver　her　orders　she　was　surrounded　by　an　attentive　and　respectful　audience。　One　day；　after　holding　forth　for　some　time　in　Swahili；　she　found　that　she　had　been　standing　hobnailed　on　one　of　the　boy's　feet。

〃Why；　Mahomet！〃　she　cried。　〃That　must　hurt　you！　Why　didn't　you　tell　me？〃

〃Memsahib；〃　he　smiled　politely；　〃I　think　perhaps　you　move　some　time！〃

On　another　occasion　she　was　trying　to　tell　the　cook；　through　Mahomet　as　interpreter；　that　she　wanted　a　tough　old　buffalo　steak　pounded；　boarding…house　style。　This　evidently　puzzled　all　hands。　They　turned　to　in　an　earnest　discussion　of　what　it　was　all　about；　anyway。　Billy　understood　Swahili　well　enough　at　that　time　to　gather　that　they　could　not　understand　the　Memsahib's　wanting　the　meat　〃kibokoed〃…FLOGGED。　Was　it　a　religious　rite；　or　a　piece　of　revenge？　They　gave　it　up。

〃All　right；〃　said　Mahomet　patiently　at　last。　〃He　say　he　do　it。　WHICH　ONE　IS　IT？〃

Part　of　our　supplies　comprised　tins　of　dehydrated　fruit。　One　evening　Billy　decided　to　have　a　grand　celebration；　so　she　passed　out　a　tin　marked　〃rhubarb〃　and　some　cornstarch；　together　with　suitable　instructions　for　a　fruit　pudding。　In　a　little　while　the　cook　returned。

〃Nataka　m'tund…I　want　fruit；〃　said　he。

Billy　pointed　out；　severely；　that　he　already　had　fruit。　He　went　away　shaking　his　head。　Evening　and　the　pudding　came。　It　looked　good；　and　we　congratulated　Billy　on　her　culinary　enterprise。　Being　hungry；　we　took　big　mouthfuls。　There　followed　splutterings　and　investigations。　The　rhubarb　can　proved　to　be　an　old　one　containing　heavy　gun　grease！

When　finally　we　parted　with　our　faithful　cook　we　bought　him　a　really　wonderful　many　bladed　knife　as　a　present。　On　seeing　it　he　slumped　to　the　ground…six　feet　of　lofty　dignity…and　began　to　weep　violently；　rocking　back　and　forth　in　an　excess　of　grief。

〃Why；　what　is　it？〃　we　inquired；　alarmed。

〃Oh；　Memsahib！〃　he　wailed；　the　tears　coursing　down　his　cheeks；　〃I　wanted　a　watch！〃


One　morning　about　nine　o'clock　we　were　riding　along　at　the　edge　of　a　grass…grown　savannah；　with　a　low　hill　to　our　right　and　another　about　four　hundred　yards　ahead。　Suddenly　two　rhinoceroses　came　to　their　feet　some　fifty　yards　to　our　left　out　in　the　high　grass；　and　stood　looking　uncertainly　in　our　direction。

〃Look　out！　Rhinos！〃　I　warned　instantly。

〃Why…why！〃　gasped　Billy　in　an　astonished　tone　of　voice；　〃they　have　manes！〃

In　some　concern　for　her　sanity　I　glanced　in　her　direction。　She　was　staring；　not　to　her　left；　but　straight　ahead。　I　followed　the　direction　of　her　gaze；　to　see　three　lions　moving　across　the　face　of　the　hill。

Instantly　we　dropped　off　our　horses。　We　wanted　a　shot　at　those　lions　very　much　indeed；　but　were　hampered　in　our　efforts　by　the　two　rhinoceroses；　now　stamping；　snorting；　and　moving　slowly　in　our　direction。　The　language　we　muttered　was　racy；　but　we　dropped　to　a　kneeling　position　and　opened　fire　on　the　disappearing　lions。　It　was　most　distinctly　a　case　of　divided　attention；　one　eye　on　those　menacing　rhinos；　and　one　trying　to　attend　to　the　always　delicate　operation　of　aligning　sights　and　signalling　from　a　rather　distracted　brain　just　when　to　pull　the　trigger。　Our　faithful　gunbearers　crouched　by　us；　the　heavy　guns　ready。

One　rhino　seemed　either　peaceable　or　stupid。　He　showed　no　inclination　either　to　attack　or　to　depart；　but　was　willing　to　back　whatever　play　his　friend　might　decide　on。　The　friend　charged　toward　us　until　we　began　to　think　he　meant　battle；　stopped；　thought　a　moment；　and　then；　followed　by　his　companion；　trotted　slowly　across　our　bows　about　eighty　yards　away；　while　we　continued　our　long　range　practice　at　the　lions　over　their　backs。

In　this　we　were　not　winning　many　cigars。　F。　had　a　280…calibre　rifle　shooting　the　Ross　cartridge　through　the　much　advertised　grooveless　oval　bore。　It　was　little　accurate　beyond　a　hundred　yards。　Memba　Sasa　had　thrust　the　405　into　my　hand；　knowing　it　for　the　〃lion　gun；〃　and　kept　just　out　of　reach　with　the　long…range　Springfield。　I　had　no　time　to　argue　the　matter　with　him。　The　405　has　a　trajectory　like　a　rainbow　at　that　distance；　and　I　was　guessing　at　it；　and　not　making　very　good　guesses　e