t took me probably about two minutes to reach the place where
the zebra had been killed. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the great
birds were standing idly about; a dozen or so were flapping and
scrambling in the centre. I stepped into view. With a mighty commotion
they all took wing clumsily, awkwardly, reluctantly. A trampled, bloody
space and the larger bones, picked absolutely clean, was all that
remained! In less than two minutes the job had been done!

"You're certainly good workmen!" I exclaimed, "but I wonder how you all
make a living!"

We started the men on to camp with the meat, and ourselves rested
under the shade. The day had been a full and interesting one; but we
considered it as finished. Remained only the hot journey back to camp.

After a half hour we mounted again and rode on slowly. The sun was very
strong and a heavy shimmer clothed the plain. Through this shimmer we
caught sight of something large and black and flapping. It looked like a
crow-or, better, a scare-crow-crippled, half flying, half running, with
waving wings or arms, now dwindling, now gigantic as the mirage caught
it up or let it drop. As we watched, it developed, and we made it out
to be a porter, clad in a long, ragged black overcoat, running zigzag
through the bushes in our direction.

The moment we identified it we spurred our horses forward. As my horse
leaped, Memba Sasa snatched the Springfield from my left hand and forced
the 405 Winchester upon me. Clever Memba Sasa! He no more than we knew
what was up, but shrewdly concluded that whatever it was it needed a
heavy gun.

As we galloped to meet him, the porter stopped. We saw him to be a very
long-legged, raggedy youth whom we had nicknamed the Marabout because of
his exceedingly long, lean legs, the fact that his breeches were white,
short and baggy, and because he kept his entire head shaved close. He
called himself Fundi, which means The Expert, a sufficient indication of
his confidence in himself.

He awaited us leaning on his safari stick, panting heavily, the sweat
running off his face in splashes. "Simba!"* said he, and immediately
set off on a long, easy lope ahead of us. We pulled down to a trot and
followed him.

* Lion

At the end of a half mile we made out a man up a tree. Fundi, out of
breath, stopped short and pointed to this man. The latter, as soon as he
had seen us, commenced to scramble down. We spurred forward to find out
where the lions had be