, etc., each isolated from its fellows, each
perfectly competent to serve as the map's single landmark.

We should have camped, but we were very anxious to catch that train; and
we were convinced that now, after all that work, Tsavo could not be far
away. It would be ridiculous and mortifying to find we had camped
almost within sight of our destination!

The heat was very bad and the force of the sun terrific. It seemed to
possess actual physical weight, and to press us down from above. We
filled our canteens many times at the swift-running stream, and emptied
them as often. By two o'clock F. was getting a little wobbly from the
sun. We talked of stopping, when an unexpected thunder shower rolled out
from behind the mountains, and speedily overcast the entire heavens.
This shadow relieved the stress. F., much revived, insisted that we
proceed. So we marched and passed many more hills.

In the meantime it began to rain, after the whole-hearted tropical
fashion. In two minutes we were drenched to the skin. I kept my matches
and notebook dry by placing them in the crown of my cork helmet. After
the intense heat this tepid downpour seemed to us delicious.

And then, quite unexpectedly, of course, we came around a bend to make
out through the sheets of rain the steel girders of the famous Tsavo
bridge.[15]

We clambered up a steep, slippery bank to the right-of-way, along which
we proceeded half a mile to the station. This consisted of two or three
native huts, a house for the East Indian in charge, and the station
building itself. The latter was a small frame structure with a narrow
floorless veranda. There was no platform. Drawing close on all sides was
the interminable thorn scrub. Later, when the veil of rain had been
drawn aside, we found that Tsavo, perched on a hillside, looked abroad
over a wide prospect. For the moment all we saw was a dark, dismal,
dripping station, wherein was no sign of life.

We were beginning to get chilly, and we wanted very much some tea, fire,
a chance to dry, pending the arrival of our safari. We jerked open the
door and peered into the inky interior.

"Babu!" yelled F., "Babu!"

From an inner back room came the faint answer in most precise English,--

"I can-not come; I am pray-ing."

There followed the sharp, quick tinkle of a little bell--the Indian
manner of calling upon the Lord's attention.

We both knew better than to hustle the institutions of the East; so we
waited wit