About 4 a.m. Clifford, in spite of short halts, was feeling done up with his exertions in keeping pace with Saidi. Hardened though he was, he inwardly admitted he was about finished on this trek. He halted and whistled peculiarly to Saidi, who stopped likewise. Saidi came back to his master, apparently cool and tireless as ever, and sure of his untraced road. Clifford asked him how far he thought they were from the hills. In answer, Saidi pointed into the darkness a little to the left. “There, master,” he said, “close now—river we cross last, near to hills—soon we camp.”

Thus cheered, they started on the final tramp; but Saidi’s hills were deceptive, his “short distance” stretched out to a good two miles before the tired party reached their chosen hiding-place.

LAKE NATRON AT DAWN

At the first inkling of dawn, Clifford moved well into the hills and secreted the mules in the bottom of a valley thickly grown with cactus. From there Clifford and Saidi made their way to a spur overlooking the plain on the west and north. Here they concealed themselves among some acacia bushes, after they had made sure that, in the event of discovery, there was a line of retreat down either slope of the spur to thicker cover—whence their hidden rifles could put up a reasonable defence against odds, if need be.

From where he stood in the early morning dawn, Clifford had a wonderful view of the wild life and of the country. Below him a small herd of graceful antelope, known as Grant’s gazelle, was browsing quietly in the immediate foreground of the plain—a plain of dry, buff-coloured grass which stretched some two miles to the west, to the shores of Lake Natron. In the intermediate distance was a great herd of unsymmetrical hartebeeste (buck of size and colour of red deer), and pony-like zebra, moving along, in ever-changing attitudes, busy on their morning feed, and lending life and colour to the peaceful scene. Along the shores of Lake Natron, white soda deposit glistened like silver in the lightening day, whilst the waters of the lake appeared dyed in pink where countless flamingoes rested. A mile or two up the valley, at the head of Lake Natron, and to the east of the swamp of tall green grass which is there, rugged old Shombole mountain stood prominent with its furrowed surface of deep ravines and back-bone ridges, the whole overawed by the sheer cliff face, and the inaccessible plateau at the towering crest, of the most westerly range. In many places the outer slopes of Shombole were buff with the dry, yellow grass of the plains, but in the ravines, and on sheltered slopes, dark-green foliage grew where overcrowded masses of impenetrable cactus had found root, and an existence, amongst the rocks.

Meantime there was no sign of the enemy—nothing moved, except droves of game in this hunter’s paradise.

Clifford estimated that he was an hour or two ahead of the raiders, and soon he dozed in the cool of the morning—leaving Saidi on guard. He trusted the boy completely, for the experience of long months had proved him always faithful and fearless to serve. Faithful as a wonderful dog was Saidi, and “greater faith hath no man.” Saidi worshipped his master.

Some hours passed—Clifford had fallen into profound sleep after his long night’s exertion, for he was more easily tired now than in the old days before he knew the impairing ravages of fever. The heightened day found Saidi still at his post. But he was now tense and alert, and his eyes were eagerly fixed on a cloud of dust approaching from the north. There were the raiders! of that he was sure; for he had seen a horseman break off to the right, clear of the dust, for a moment or two. However, he would not wake his master yet; the raiders were far out at present, and the cattle they herded moved very slowly.

In a short time, however, he espied two horsemen riding forward, at an easy gallop, clear of the herd. They were probably coming on ahead to select their noon camp, confident that the plain was uninhabited but by themselves. Seeing this, Saidi woke Clifford, who was instantly on his feet, and eager to sight the enemy.

DARING