We went on in the direction pointed out to us by the Burkeneji as the path taken by El Hakim, but saw no traces of him. Keeping to the river as being the best possible guide, we travelled another eight or nine miles. Just before sundown we reached an acacia thicket, where I decided to camp, continuing the search for El Hakim on the morrow. The donkeys were off-loaded, and Ramathani busied himself in preparing a meal. George strolled out of camp, and while “fossicking” round discovered a Burkeneji village in the acacia forest about three hundred yards away. Taking Mumbo with us as interpreter, George and I went over to the village. No one appeared to meet us, as the men were out bringing in the cattle and sheep for the night. Two or three young women stood about with empty milk-vessels, evidently waiting for the herds to come in. They were quite fearless, and approached us, laughing merrily at the curious figures George and I must have cut in our tattered shirts and trousers and clumsy boots covered with zebra-skin. They were well built, plump, very pretty, and undeniably saucy, and were clothed with a small, very small, piece of cloth about their middles, and numerous small bead necklaces and brass wire armlets. They stood a yard or so away, and discussed our personal appearance with great freedom and animation, now and then pointing out to one another some new item in our make-up not previously noticed, and breaking into a hearty laugh. George came in for more than a fair share of their attention. He is a fine, big chap, and the girls always do pay him more attention than he deserves; both white and black, though, to do him justice, he was never conceited in consequence. As we stood there waiting for the return of the Burkeneji men, the description of the Anglo-Saxon as the “heir of all the ages” occurred to me, and I chuckled inwardly at the spectacle of two ragged “heirs of all the ages” standing outside a little negro village, the helpless butts of the saucy tongues of a group of little negresses of a tribe who have no ambitions beyond their daily wants, and no ideas beyond supplying them; and who, as far as I know, are not yet definitely classified by ethnologists. Presently a tall, dignified native strode up, followed by several others. He was certainly not less than six feet in height, and proved to be the chief of the village. At his approach the women ran away—not very far, however, but remaining in the background, they continued their frivolous remarks. The chief did not seem at all respectful either; in fact, he appeared rather bored than otherwise. We exchanged the usual “serian,” and then, through the medium of the interpreter, I inquired the location of the Somalis’ camp. The reply was that it was “quite near.” I suggested that the chief should guide us thither. He acquiesced, and returning to the camp we loaded up the donkeys again, much to their disgust, and followed our new-found guide.