XXXVIII.

THE LOWER BENCHES.


The Narossara is really only about creek size, but as it flows the whole
year round it merits the title of river. It rises in the junction of a
long spur with the main ranges, cuts straight across a wide inward bend
of the mountains, joins them again, plunges down a deep and tremendous
cañon to the level of a second bench below great cliffs, meanders
peacefully in flowery meadows and delightful glades for some miles, and
then once more, and most unexpectedly, drops eighteen hundred feet by
waterfall and precipitous cascade to join the Southern Guaso Nyero. The
country around this junction is some of the roughest I saw in Africa.

We camped at the spot where the river ran at about its maximum distance
from the mountains. Our tents were pitched beneath the shade of tall and
refreshing trees.

A number of Masai women visited us, laughing and joking with Billy in
their quizzically humorous fashion. Just as we were sitting down at
table an Englishman wandered out of the greenery and approached. He was
a small man with a tremendous red beard, wore loose garments and tennis
shoes, and strolled up, his hands in his pockets and smoking a
cigarette. This was V., a man of whom we had heard. A member of a
historical family, officer in a crack English regiment, he had resigned
everything to come into this wild country. Here he had built a boma, or
enclosed compound, and engaged himself in acquiring Masai sheep in