We talk over our several adventures of the afternoon, some of which may be quite thrilling, and then, with camp chairs drawn around the great camp-fire, and with the sentinel askari pacing back and forth, we spend a drowsy hour in talking.

Gradually the sounds of night come on.

Off there a hyena is howling or a zebra is barking, and we know that through all those shadowy masses of trees the beasts of prey are creeping forth for their night's hunting.

The porters' tents are ranged in a wide semicircle, and their camp-fires show little groups of men squatting about them.

Somewhere one is playing a tin flute, another is playing a French harp, and some are singing.