The Roosevelt party went its way back to civilization; the Spaniards, De la Huerta and the Duke of Penaranda, came and made a flying trip up the mountain for elephant, then returned and went their way.

The young Baron Rothschild came on to the plateau for a couple of weeks and then disappeared.

And still we lingered on, happy, healthy, generally hungry, and intoxicated with the languorous murmur of Africa.
[Drawing: _With Sharp Stakes in Them_] Then we marched for the mountain on our big elephant hunt.

The details of those twelve days of adventuring in districts, some of which were probably never traversed before by white men, our experiences with the natives, our climb up the side of the mountain and our camp in the crater; our icy mornings, our ascent of the highest peak, and our explorations of the ancient homes of the cave-dwellers--all are part of a remarkable series of events that have nothing to do with an elephant story.

In the forests we saw numberless old elephant pits, and on the grassy slopes there were mazes of elephants' trails, some so big that hundreds of elephants must have moved along them.