broken down into an approach to a pool. The dust was deep here, and arose
in a cloud as a little band of zebra scrambled away. The borders of this
pool were a fascinating palimpsest: the tracks of many sorts of beast had
been impressed there in the mud. Both Kingozi and Simba examined them with
an approach to interest, though to an observer the examination would have
seemed but the most casual of glances. They saw the indications of zebra,
wildebeeste, hartebeeste, gazelles of various sorts, the deep, round,
well-like prints of the rhinoceros, and all the other usual inhabitants of
the veldt. But over these their eyes passed lightly. Only three things
could here interest these seasoned African travellers. Simba espied one of
them, and pointed it out, just at the edge of the narrow border of softer
mud.

"There is the lion," said he. "A big one. He was here this morning. But no
buffalo, _bwana_; and no elephant."

The water in the pool was muddy and foul. Thousands of animals drank from
it daily; and after drinking had stood or wallowed in it. The flavour
would be rich of the barnyard, which even a strong infusion of tea could
not disguise. _Kingozi_ had often been forced to worse; but here he hoped
for better.

The safari had dumped down the loads at the top of the bank, and were
resting in utter relaxation. The march was over, and they waited.

Bwana Kingozi threw off the carefully calculated listless slouch that had
conserved his strength for an unknown goal. His work was not yet done.

"Simba," he directed, "go that way, down the river[1] and look for another
pool--of good water. Take the big rifle."