d out for
our four tents and mess tent, the cook tent is located, and in a short
time the camp is ready. In my tent the cot is spread, with blankets
airing; the mosquito net is up, the table is ready, with toilet
articles, books and cigars laid out. The three tin uniform cases are in
their places, my cameras are in their places, as are also the guns and
lanterns. A floor cloth covers the ground and a long easy chair is ready
for occupancy. Towels and water are ready, and pajamas and cholera belt
are on the pillow of the cot. Everything is done that should be done,
and I am immediately in a well established house with all my favorite
articles in their accustomed places.

[Drawing: _The Safari in Camp_]

A luncheon, with fruit, meat, curry and a pastry is ready by the time we
are, and then we smoke or sleep through the broiling midday hours. Mr.
Stephenson--or "Fred," as he is with us--and I go out on a scouting
expedition and look for good specimens to add to our collection of horns
or to get food for the porters. Sometimes the whole party went out,
either photographing charging rhinos or shooting, but this part of the
daily program was usually too varied to generalize as part of the daily
doings. Several porters went with each of us to bring in the game, which
there is rarely any uncertainty of securing.

In the evening we return and find our baths of hot water ready. We take
off our heavy hunting boots and slip into the soft mosquito boots. After
which dinner is ready and our menu is strangely varied. Sometimes we
have kongoni steaks, at other times we have the heart of waterbuck or
the liver of bushbuck or impalla. Twice we had rhino tongue and once
rhino tail soup. We eat, and at six o'clock the darkness of night
suddenly spreads over the land. 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. It
is a pict