VIII. THE RIVER JUNGLE

We camped along this river for several weeks, poking indefinitely
and happily around the country in all directions to see what we
could see. Generally we went together, for neither B. nor myself
had been tried out as yet on dangerous game-those easy rhinos
hardly counted-and I think we both preferred to feel that we had
backing until we knew what our nerves were going to do with us.
Nevertheless, occasionally, I would take Memba Sasa and go out
for a little purposeless stroll a few miles up or down river.
Sometimes we skirted the jungle, sometimes we held as near as
possible to the river's bank, sometimes we cut loose and rambled
through the dry, crackling scrub over the low volcanic hills of
the arid country outside.

Nothing can equal the intense interest of the most ordinary walk
in Africa. It is the only country I know of where a man is
thoroughly and continuously alive. Often when riding horseback
with the dogs in my California home I have watched them in envy
of the keen, alert interest they took in every stone, stick, and
bush, in every sight, sound, and smell. With equal frequency I
have expressed that envy, but as something unattainable to a
human being's more phlegmatic make-up. In Africa one actually
rises to continuous alertness. There are dozy moments-except you
curl up in a safe place for the PURPOSE of dozing; again just
like the dog! Every bush, every hollow, every high tuft of grass,
every deep shadow must be scrutinized for danger. It will not do
to pass carelessly any possible lurking place. At the same time