sparse bunches of grasses grew like reeds in a great marshy lake. We
splashed along with the water over our ankles. The channels made by the
game trails offered natural conduits, and wherever there was the least
grade they had become rushing brooks. We found the safari very
bedraggled. Billy had made a mound of valuables, atop which she perched,
her waterproof cape spread as wide as possible, a good deal like a
brooding hen. We set out for the meeting-point on the Kedong. In half an
hour we had there found a bit of higher ground and had made camp.

As suddenly as they had gathered the storm clouds broke away. The
expiring sun sent across the valley a flood of golden light, that gilded
the rugged old mountain of Suswa over the way.

"Directly on the other side of Suswa," C. told me, "there is a 'pan' of
hard clay. This rain will fill it, and we shall find water there. We can
take a night's rest, and set off comfortably in the morning."

So the rain that had soaked us so thoroughly was a blessing after all.
While we were cooking supper the wagon passed us, its wheels and frame
creaking, its great whip cracking like a rifle, its men shrieking at the
imperturbable team of eighteen oxen. It would travel until the oxen
wanted to graze, or sleep, or scratch an ear, or meditate on why is a
Kikuyu. Thereupon they would be outspanned and allowed to do it,
whatever it was, until they were ready to go on again. Then they would
go on. These sequences might take place at any time of the day or night,
and for greater or lesser intervals of time. That was distinctly up to
the oxen; the human beings had mighty little to say in the matter. But
transport riding, from the point of view of the rank outsider, really
deserves a chapter of its own.