In A Moment
He Put His Hand On His Knife And Half Drew
It From Its Sheath, But On Seeing Me Dismount
And Point My Rifle At Him, He Desisted And Tried
To Run Away.
I made it clear to him by signs,
however, that I would fire if he did not at once
go back and replace the blanket round his
dying comrade.
This he eventually did, though
sullenly enough, and I then marched him in front
of me to the main camp of the caravan, some
little distance further on. Here I handed him
over to the officer in charge, who, I am glad to
say, had him soundly thrashed for his brutality
and theft.
After performing this little act of retributive
justice, I pushed on towards the Stony Athi. On
the way - while still not far from the caravan
camp - I spied a Grant's gazelle in the distance,
and by the aid of my glasses discovered that it
was a fine-looking buck with a capital pair of
horns. A few Basoga from the caravan had
followed me, doubtless in the hope of obtaining
meat, of which they are inordinately fond; so,
handing them my pony, I wriggled from tuft to
tuft and crawled along in the folds of the ground
until eventually I got near enough for a safe
shot, which bowled the antelope over stone-dead.
Scarcely had he dropped when the Basoga
swooped down on him, ripped him open, and
devoured huge chunks of the raw and still
quivering flesh, lapping up the warm blood in the
palms of their hands.
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