her in
silent fear, waited in the hope that the Kara Mojas would leave. Finally
they heard Kavirondo's shouts and then after hours of indecision they
decided to come in.

That is the end of the story. The Wanderobo, grateful to us, led us by
secret trails out of the wilderness, or as far as he dared to go. He led
us to the edge of the enemy's country and then returned to his forest
home.

In a couple of days of hard marching, one of which was through soaking
torrents of rain, without food for ten hours, we reached the Nzoia
River. Our mountain troubles were overs.

CHAPTER XVIII

ELECTRIC LIGHTS, MOTOR-CARS AND FIFTEEN VARIETIES OF WILD GAME. CHASING
LIONS ACROSS COUNTRY IN A CARRIAGE

Nairobi is a thriving, bustling city, with motor cars, electric lights,
clubs, race meets, balls, banquets, and all the frills that constitute
an up-to-date community. Carriages and dog-carts and motorcycles rush
about, and lords and princes and earls sit upon the veranda of the
leading hotel in hunting costumes. Lying out from Nairobi are big
grazing farms, many of them fenced in with barbed wire; and the peaceful
rows of telegraph poles make exclamation points of civilization across
the landscape. It doesn't sound like good hunting in such a district,
does it? Yet this is what actually happened:

We had discharged our _safari_, packed up our tents, and were just
ready to start to Mombasa to catch a ship for Bombay. A telegram
unexpectedly arrived, saying that the boat would not sail until three
days later, so we decided to put in two or three more mornings of
shooting out beyond the limits of the city.

We got a carriage, a low-necked vehicle drawn by two little mules. It
was driven by a young black boy, and we got another boy from the hotel
to go along for general utility purposes. Into this vehicle we placed
our guns, and at seven o'clock in the morning drove out of the town. In
fifteen or twenty minutes we had passed through the streets and had
reached the pleasant roads of the open plains. Soon we passed the
race-track and then bowled merrily along between peaceful barbed-wire
fences. Occasional groups of Kikuyus were tramping along the road,
bringing in eggs or milk to Nairobi. A farm-house or two lay off to
either side, and once or twice we passed boys herding little bunches of
ostriches.

At about a quarter to eight we drove up the tree-lined avenue of a
farm-house and a pleasant-faced woman responded to our kn