"We've got to go back," he said, speaking straight in front of him at the nearest of the sleepy horses. "We've got to go to-morrow and have a try from the water hole at the Rugged Rocks where we saw the two lions on the way out here. We may find one there and we may not. If we don't, we've got to go on to Nairobi and start all over again—provided the rains don't begin."
Accordingly, through the long hot days the safari plodded back over the way we had come from the Soda Swamp to Agate's, from Agate's to the Honeybird River, and then on once more to the Last Water. The cameras were stowed away on the wagons, the ropes remained coiled on the saddles, for there was no probability of our finding lions on the way. And each man rode as his judgment decreed, because the business of the safari then was to get on over the road, and the ox-wagons behind came along as best they could.
For the most part it was a silent journey. The expedition had turned its back on the district that only a short week ago had held out such alluring promises, and any day now the rains might commence effectually to put a stop to the work before it was done. Then, too—although this may seem to be a small matter, still it had weight with all of us—the white hunters of the country had ridiculed the idea of our being able to rope a lion, and the prospect of returning and admitting defeat without having been given a proper chance was not pleasant to contemplate.
At the Last Water we outspanned for the night and most of the succeeding day. In view of the situation, the long halt was absolutely necessary to give the oxen a good rest and drink before setting forth on the twenty-four-hour journey without water to the Rugged Rocks. But throughout the dragging hours of the enforced rest always there loomed ahead of us the possibility of failure and the need of haste. No mention was made of this openly. The only sign of our underlying anxiety was a vague restlessness pervading the entire safari.
Once on the march again, with the sun low in the west, the restlessness disappeared. The night came dark, because the moon rose late, and the air was still, so that the dust that lifted from beneath the feet of the oxen drifted along with the wagon. Now and again one of the wheels bumped over a rock in the road and the brake beam shook and rattled. At times the high-pitched cries of the native drivers pierced the stillness. Ahead of us the bulk of the wagon load loomed big against the stars.
When the dying moon first showed red through the branches of the twisted trees, the safari crossed the top of the Mau and commenced the slow descent to the valley, and the wagons in front became lost in the darkness and the dust. When the morning star rose, we had come to the foothills of the escarpment, and the dawn wind sprang up cold, so that the men shivered a little in their saddles and buttoned up their coats and began to talk.
"It was just about here that we caught the giraffe that day," said Kearton. "Remember? And wasn't it hot?"
The talk drifted aimlessly, round and about from the western ranches to Flicker Alley and the London Music Halls, only to return in the end, as it naturally would, to the water hole at Rugged Rocks and our chances of finding lion. The discussion was lengthy on this point—it always was.
By the time the sun came, the expedition had entered the plain of the Rift Valley, and with the rising of the sun the thirst began. Toward noon we halted for a couple of hours to allow the worst of the heat to pass over, gave the horses and the porters a little of the water that was carried on one of the wagons, and then inspanned again and went on. As the horsemen took the road the Colonel outlined his plan.
"We'll give the horses a good rest to-night, for we ought to make camp early, and then start hunting the first thing in the morning. We've got enough horse-feed to last us three or four days if the water holds out that long. In that time we ought to get a lion if there's any there. I'll ride on now a bit and look for signs."