Many times we saw evidences of the giant forest pig that lives on Mount Kenia and has only once or twice been killed by a white man.

Sometimes we came to deep ravines with sides that led for a hundred feet almost perpendicularly through tangles of creepers and bogs of rotted vegetation.
We dragged ourselves up by clinging to vines and monkey ropes.

On all sides was a solitude so vast as almost to overpower the senses.

The sounds of bird life seemed only to intensify the effect of solitude.
Once in a while we came upon evidences of human habitation, little huts of twigs and leaves, where the Wanderobo, or man of the forest, lived and hunted.

Up in some of the trees were thin cylindrical wooden honey pots, some of them ages old and some comparatively new.