my were dead and the other four were sprinting for dear
life. Baden-Powell had two pretty adventures in this engagement.
Having emptied his Colt's repeater, he threw it carefully under a
peculiar tree, so that he might find it when business was done; then
he went to work with his revolver. As he rode forward he came upon an
open stretch of ground, and the first object that struck his attention
was a well-knit Kaffir on one knee covering his body with a
Martini-Henry. The distance was about eighty yards, and Baden-Powell,
telling the story, says that he felt so indignant at the fellow's
rudeness that he rode at him as hard as he could gallop, calling him
every name under the sun. But the Kaffir was not to be moved even by
the best-bred abuse, and he remained kneeling with the rifle pointed
at B.-P., until that horseman, with locked jaws and gleaming eyes
(those who know him will understand), was only ten yards off. Then he
fired, and B.-P. says he felt quite relieved "when I realised he had
clean missed me." That nigger was shot immediately afterwards by one
of Baden-Powell's men, who was riding to his help from behind.

The other close shave will make the nervous turn cold to think of it.
B.-P. had ridden to the help of two men kept at bay by a nigger under
a tree, and when the nigger had been killed, he was standing for a
moment under the tree, when something moving above him made him look
up. It was a gun-barrel taking aim at him. The man behind the gun,
standing on a branch, was so jammed against the trunk of the tree as
to look part of it, and while B.-P. was making a note of this fact for
his next lecture on scouting, _bang_ went the gun, and the ground in
front of his toes was as if a small earthquake had struck it. That
nigger's knobkerrie and photograph are now in the Baden-Powell
museum--a museum which began with butterflies and birds' eggs, and now
includes mementos of nearly every tribe and animal on the face of the
earth.

After the fight Baden-Powell got back to Buluwayo in time for late
lunch, and--"made up for lost time in the office." From now it was a
case of office for many weary weeks, and Baden-Powell could only at
rare intervals steal away for exercise, which he took in the form of
hard scouting, sometimes by himself, sometimes with Burnham--"a most
delightful companion." His rides with the famous American gave him
great pleasure, and each man, both born scouts, learned something from
the other. W