And yet this, one thought, was equatorial Africa, which, in the popular imagination, is supposed to be synonymous with torrential rains, malignant fevers, and dense jungles of matted vegetation.

It was more like the friendly stretches of Colorado scenery at the time of year when the grasses of the valley are dotted with flowers of many colors and the sun shines down upon you with genial warmth.
[Drawing: _A Night on the Equator_] Each morning we marched ten or twelve miles and then went into camp near some little stream.

In the afternoon we hunted for lions, beating out swamps, scouting every bit of cover and combing the tall grass for hours at a time.

Hartebeest, topi, zebra, eland, oribi, reedbuck, and small grass antelope were upon all sides and at all times.
The herds of zebra and hartebeest literally numbered thousands, but, except as the latter were occasionally required for food for the porters, we seldom tried to shoot them.

Every Boer settler we saw was interviewed and every promising lion clue was followed to the bitter end, but without result.