It was exactly like the shallow, damp but waterless ravines at home,
filled with black berry vines. We pushed forward, however, and found
ourselves looking down on a smooth, swift flowing stream.

It was not over six feet wide, grown close with vines and grasses, but
so very deep and swift and quiet that an extraordinary volume of water
passed, as through an artificial aqueduct. Furthermore, unlike most
African streams, it was crystal clear. We plunged our faces and wrists
in it, and took long, thankful draughts. It was all most grateful after
the scorching desert. The fresh trees meeting in canopy overhead were
full of monkeys and bright birds; festooned vines swung their great
ropes here and there; long heavy grass carpeted underfoot.

After we had rested a few minutes we filled our empty canteens, and
prepared to start back for our companions. But while I stood there,
Memba Sasa--good, faithful Memba Sasa--seized both canteens and darted
away.

"Lie down!" he shouted back at me, "I will go back."

Without protest--which would have been futile anyway--I sank down on the
grass. I was very tired. A little breeze followed the watercourse; the
grass was soft; I would have given anything for a nap. But in wild
Africa a nap is not healthy; so I drowsily watched the mongooses that
had again come out of seclusion, and the monkeys, and the birds. At the
end of a long time, and close to sundown, I heard voices. A moment later
F., Memba Sasa, and about three-quarters of the men came in. We all,
white and black, set to work to make camp. Then we built smudges and
fired guns in the faint hope of guiding in the stragglers. As a matter
of fact we had not the slightest faith in these expedients. Unless the