The people who gathered round us while the meal was being got ready were a fierce-looking crowd, their bodies being disfigured with paint and hung about with rough ornaments. Every one seemed to be discussing me, and, by the looks cast in my direction, debating whether, after all, they should not kill me. Not knowing what might happen, I kept my rifle near me and my bandolier in readiness in case of a sudden attack. After a time they became more inquisitive, and began to examine my clothes, which were something quite new to them, as they had never seen anything of the sort before. The boots puzzled them the most, as they appeared to think they were actually part of my feet, which they seemed to think very curiously constructed. Some of them pushed their curiosity to the extent of wanting to examine my rifle, but this I refused to let go out of my hand. My interpreter said that they thought I was very foolish to come among them with only one rifle, so I told him to tell them that this gun was different from any that they had ever seen before and far more effective than those carried by Arab and Swahili traders. This gun, I explained, could kill six men with one shot, and I told them that I would show them what it would do by firing at a tree. It happened to be the old Martini-Metford, so, putting in a solid cartridge, I chose a tree that I knew the bullet would go through and fired. They immediately rushed in a body to see what damage had been done, and when they found the hole where the bullet had gone in and come out the other side they were both considerably surprised and impressed. I assured them that that was nothing; if they would examine the side of the mountain beyond they would find that the bullet had gone right through that as well! I knew that only sheer bluff could bring me safely out of the position in which I had voluntarily placed myself, and so made the best use of every opportunity that arose of impressing them.