"Who would eat such stringy meat as you ?" We came to caves that none of the men dared enter--vast, gloomy tunnels into the mountain through which the chill wind whistled like a dirge.
Yet the caverns were warmer than the wind, and not bad camping-places if we could have persuaded the boys to take advantage of them.
The earth, too, all over the mountain and the range to eastward of it was warm in spite of the wind.

In places there were warm springs bubbling from the rock, and at night and early morning a blanket of white mist that was remarkably like steam covered everything.

It was a land of thunderless lightning--lightning from a clear sky, flashing here and there without warning or excuse.

On the high slopes there was little or no game, and no signs whatever of inhabitants, until late one afternoon the porters shouted, and we saw an old man racing toward us along the top of a ridge.
He held his hands out, and shouted as he ran--a round-faced, big-bellied man, although not nearly so fat as when we saw him last; unclean, unkempt, in tattered shirt and crushed-in fez--a man with one desire expressed all over him--to see, and touch, and talk with other men.

He ran and threw himself at Monty's feet, clasped his legs, and blubbered.
"Bwana! Oh, bwana! Oh, bwana!" "Get up, Johnson!" Fred took him by the arm and raised him.