It did not matter so much, however, as we still had meat left from the diafa of the Goran.
It quickly got too hot for comfort, and the camels, fresh from drinking, refused to go on. We camped in the shade of a tree, but soon discovered that better protection from the sun was to be had in crevices in the rocks. The camels were allowed to graze, and the men settled down to prepare the midday meal. Two sheep were slaughtered, and their flesh, impaled on sticks, was slowly revolved before the fire to roast in the Bedouin fashion. It was delicious. While the meat was being prepared, Sad cut his hand. I saw the blood and asked where it came from.
“From Hamid’s gazelle!” said Bukara, and once more shouts of laughter went up over the unsuccessful hunter.
After lunch I wound my watches, recorded the readings of the aneroid and the maximum and minimum thermometers, and wrote up my diaries, when Hamid the camelman came running to say that a herd of ostriches was near-by. We all grasped our rifles and stood ready. Soon the ostriches appeared, thirty or forty in number. The Bedouins were impatient and opened fire while the distance was too great. The ostriches dashed off into another valley with the men in hot pursuit. Many shots were fired, but Zerwali soon came back to say that nothing had been killed.
In a little while Hamid appeared carrying a small ostrich and followed by Senussi Bu Hassan. Both men claimed to have shot the creature, and since there were two bullet-wounds in it, either of which might have been fatal, they appealed to me for judgment; I asked the opinion of the men who saw the shooting, and all agreed that Hamid’s shot felled the bird. I decided in his favor.
Later Hamid, the camelman, small and sharp of features and afraid of no animals, not even of snakes, came upon an ostrich in a closed part of the valley and, after attacking it unsuccessfully with stones, rushed at it and caught it round the neck. He wrestled with it manfully, but it landed a kick on his side from one of its powerful legs and ran away. I was watching the contest through my binoculars and nearly split my sides with laughter. The ostrich mounted a ridge, looked back scornfully at Hamid, who stood cursing it, arranged its feathers, and trotted off with the gait of a gay dowager, leaving him with his hand pressed to his maltreated side.
“Has the ostrich hurt you?” I asked solicitously when he returned.
“Oh, no,” he replied, quickly taking his hand from his side.
“Why didn’t you bring it back, then?” I asked again.
“I had to let it go,” he explained with great plausibility. “She was only a female.”