The Masai always seemed well disposed towards me, and, as is their custom when they wish to be polite, paid me the compliment of spitting on their hands before shaking hands with me. The bearing of the _elmoran_, or warriors, was certainly truculent and insulting, but I managed not to give offence, and even succeeded in trading with them for a few donkeys to replace those of mine which had died on the road, and one which had been killed by a hyena; and when the animals were sufficiently rested, we were able to resume our journey to Lake Naivasha, where there is a Government station, without further incident of note. The natives along the Uganda Road were now beginning to get accustomed to the altered state of things. Caravans were going through the country regularly, and they had sense enough to understand that the white man had come to stay, and any attempt to oppose his coming would probably have serious consequences for themselves, resulting in the loss of their herds and their best grazing-grounds. Of course they did not realize all this at once. The old fighting spirit of the warriors could not be entirely checked in a moment, but it was only in isolated instances that they dared to attack the white intruders; they had always been accustomed to make war on the neighbouring tribes as they pleased, and up to recent years would raid portions of British East African territory, and make organized descents into German East Africa. To the present day they will carry off cattle whenever the opportunity offers, arguing that, as the original owners of all the cattle in the country, they are perfectly within their rights in helping themselves. [Illustration: AN ANT HILL]