s, by some internal disease, and it had lain down to wait for
death.

The tusks were not worth taking, and the party pursued its way up the
eastern bank of the river, where the herd had also evidently pursued its
way, and then on, on, across the country due east, in the track they had
followed since morning.

As they left the river-bed a tiny dot in the sky above, which they had not
noticed, enlarged, and like a stone from the blue fell a vulture. It lit
on the carcass; then came a kite slanting down to the feast, and then from
the blue, like stones dropped from the careless hand of a giant, vulture
after vulture.

CHAPTER XIX

THE GREAT HERD

Felix kept his place beside Adams at the head of the column. The black
seemed morose, and at the same time, excited.

Two things had disturbed him: the bad luck of meeting a lying-down
elephant and the fact that a giraffe was with the herd. He had spotted
giraffe spoor in the river-bed where the ground was sandy and showed up
the impression well.

Now, the giraffe has the keen eyesight of a bird, and when he throws in
his lot with the elephant folk who, though half-blind, have the keen scent
of hounds, the combination is bad for the hunter.

An hour before sundown they struck some pools beside which grew a tree,
the biggest they had yet come across, and here Berselius gave the order,
halt and camp.

To half of the porters it was an order to fall down flat, their loads
beside them, their arms outspread absolutely broken with the weariness of
the march, broken, and speechless, and motionless, and plunged into such a
depth of slumber that had you kicked them they would not have moved.

Berselius, himself, was nearly exhausted. He sat with his back against the
tree and gave his orders in a languid voice, and it was very curious to
see the tents going up, wielded by men who seemed working in their sleep,
slowly and with fumbling fingers, tripping over each other, pausing,
hesitating, yet working all the same, and all in the still level light of
evening that lent unreality to the scene.

Luck was against Berselius. It was quite within the bounds of probability
that the herd might have halted here by the water for the night; but they
had not. They had drunk here, for the pool was all trodden up and still
muddy, and then gone on.

They were evidently making one of their great marches, and it was probable
now that they would never be caught up with. Under these circu