defined route that permitted night travel, and sank to sleep.

In the morning, however, we found they had left with us new
responsibilities in the shape of an elderly Somali, very sick, and down
with the fever. This was indeed a responsibility. It was manifestly
impossible for us to remain there with him; we should all die of thirst.
It was equally impossible to take him with us, for he was quite unfit to
travel under the sun. Finally, as the best solution of a bad business,
we left him five gallons of water, some food, and some quinine, together
with the advice to rest until night, and then to follow his companions
along the beaten track. What between illness and wild beasts his chances
did not look very good, but it was the best we could do for him. This
incident exemplifies well the cruelty of this singular people. They
probably abandoned the old man because his groans annoyed them, or
because one of them wanted to ride in his place on the donkey cart.[12]

We struck off as early as possible through the thorn scrub on a compass
bearing that we hoped would bring us to a reported swamp at the head of
the Swanee River. The Swanee River was one of the sources of the Tsavo.
Of course this was guesswork. We did not know certainly the location of
the swamp, its distance from us, nor what lay between us and it.
However, we loaded all our transportable vessels with water, and set
forth.

The scrub was all alike; sometimes thinner, sometimes thicker. We
marched by compass until we had raised a conical hill above the horizon,
and then we bore just to the left of that. The surface of the ground was
cut by thousands of game tracks. They were all very old, however, made
after a rain; and it was evident the game herds venture into this
country only when it contains rainwater. After two hours, however, we