ank until the Tsavo
River was reached. I did not think we should meet with any further
adventure on our way home, but in the wilds the unexpected is always
happening. Shortly after we started one of the Wa Kamba went down to
the river's edge to fill his calabash with water, when a crocodile
suddenly rose up out of the stream, seized the poor fellow and in a
moment had dragged him in. I was on ahead at the time and so did not
witness the occurrence, but on hearing the cries of the others I ran
back as quickly as possible--too late, however, to see any sign of
either crocodile or native. Mahina philosophically remarked that after
all it was only a washenzi (savage), whose loss did not much matter;
and the other three Wa Kamba certainly did not appear to be affected by
the incident, but calmly possessed themselves of their dead companion's
bow and quiver of poisoned arrows, and of the stock of meat which he
had left on the bank.

I have since learned that accidents of this kind are of fairly frequent
occurrence along the banks of these rivers. On one occasion while I was
in the country a British officer had a very lucky escape. He was
filling his water bottle at the river, when one of these brutes caught
him by the hand and attempted to draw him in. Fortunately one of his
servants rushed to his assistance and managed to pull him out of the
crocodile's clutches with the loss only of two of his fingers.

As we made our way up the Sabaki, we discovered a beautiful waterfall
about a hundred and fifty feet high--not a sheer drop, but a series of
cascades. At this time the river was in low water, and the falls
consequently did not look their best; but in flood time they form a
fine sight, and the thunder of the falling water can then be plainly
heard at Tsavo, over seven miles away, when the wind is in the right
direction. We crossed the river on the rocks at the head of these
falls, and after some hours' hard marching reached camp without further
incident.

CHAPTER XIV

THE FINDING OF THE MAN-EATERS' DEN

There were some rocky-looking hills lying to the south-west of Tsavo
which I was particularly anxious to explore, so on one occasion when
work had been stopped for the day owing to lack of material, I set off
for them, accompanied by Mahina and a Punjaubi coolie, who was so stout
that he went by the name of Moota (i.e. "Fattie"). In the course of my
little excursions round Tsavo I gradually discovered that I was