We halted for breakfast on the other side of the lava-belt, and at 2 p.m. were preparing to resume the march, when Ramathani approached us in a very hesitating manner, evidently wishing to communicate something which he found unpleasant. Questioned as to what had happened, he blurted out, “Bwana, _the guides have run away_!” We were absolutely nonplussed. It is difficult at all times to fathom the motives that influence a savage; but whatever could have induced those guides to come three days’ journey to us, delaying us seven days meanwhile, only to run away again on the first march, we could not possibly guess, nor could we even faintly imagine. We were now in a precisely similar position to that in which we had been placed a fortnight before, with the single exception that we now had certain information (for we saw no reason to doubt it) that the Rendili were down the river. After a consultation we decided to push on, guides or no guides, and trust to luck. We therefore resumed the march, and, after a long hot tramp, reached our old camp of July 31 and August 4, where we remained for the night. A peculiar incident, that I have never been able to understand, occurred on that day. Before we resumed the march, after the desertion of the guides, I went out of camp alone in search of game. The country was very rough, being intersected in every direction by steep “kloofs” and “dongas,” interspersed with gravelly mounds. Loose blocks of quartz were scattered everywhere, mingled with flakes of rock-crystal and smaller pieces of quartz of a greenish colour, due to the presence of epidote. Stunted and misshapen thorny acacias and a few aloes formed almost the only vegetation. I was laboriously climbing a gravelly slope, when suddenly there was a rush and a roar as of a mighty whirlwind bearing directly down upon me. I looked round in some alarm, as it is very unpleasant being caught in one of these dust-devils with nothing solid handy to hold on to. To my intense surprise I could see nothing whatever. Not a leaf or a branch stirred, and not a particle of dust or sand rose. The rushing, tearing sound increased in volume, and drew nearer and nearer, finally seeming in full blast not more than twenty feet from where I stood. But nothing stirred; the air was perfectly clear, and everything else remaining still as death. It was a most uncanny sensation. I abandoned the idea of a whirlwind, thinking perhaps there might be a blow-hole in the vicinity for escaping volcanic gases. I searched the neighbourhood carefully under that impression, but found nothing of the sort. Finally, the sound died away. Two or three times after that, during my walk, the same thing occurred. On one occasion I seemed to be standing in the very midst of the whirlwind. It rushed and roared round about me, and I involuntarily gripped a tree-trunk to steady myself against the expected shock. But nothing happened; nothing moved. I am not a nervous person, and my