had ridden to the help of two men kept at bay by a nigger under a tree, and when the nigger had been killed, he was standing for a moment under the tree, when something moving above him made him look up.

It was a gun-barrel taking aim at him.

The man behind the gun, standing on a branch, was so jammed against the trunk of the tree as to look part of it, and while B.-P.

was making a note of this fact for his next lecture on scouting, _bang_ went the gun, and the ground in front of his toes was as if a small earthquake had struck it.

That nigger's knobkerrie and photograph are now in the Baden-Powell museum--a museum which began with butterflies and birds' eggs, and now includes mementos of nearly every tribe and animal on the face of the earth.
After the fight Baden-Powell got back to Buluwayo in time for late lunch, and--"made up for lost time in the office." From now it was a case of office for many weary weeks, and Baden-Powell could only at rare intervals steal away for exercise, which he took in the form of hard scouting, sometimes by himself, sometimes with Burnham--"a most delightful companion." His rides with the famous American gave him great pleasure, and each man, both born scouts, learned something from the other.