The next day, as no guides had put in an appearance, El Hakim and George went over to Lubo’s village, to find out the reason for the delay. Lubo, excusing himself, said that he was looking for guides, but so far he had not got hold of any one who knew the way. Two more days passed, but still no guides were forthcoming. Lubo was full of excuses and promises, but as far as he was concerned the matter was allowed to drop. Eventually we determined to make the journey without guides. We could always follow the river, which of course would be a more tedious journey, but there seemed no other way out of the difficulty. On August 30th, therefore, we made a start, taking with us only a dozen men, and leaving Jumbi and the bulk of the men in charge of our camp, with instructions to continue buying sheep. The tents were left behind with most of our other impedimenta, as we intended travelling as lightly as possible. We took with us merely a blanket or two, the necessary culinary utensils, my camera, some spare ammunition, and a change of clothing apiece. On leaving camp we skirted the north bank of the Waso Nyiro for some miles, deviously threading our way among the palm trees. It was a glorious excursion, this tramp through the cool dark glades beneath the palms, where the remnants of the bright sunshine which filtered through the leafy canopy overhead gave the scene the appearance of the interior of a vast cathedral dimly illuminated by rays of sunshine through stained glass windows. The effect was heightened by the occasional glimpses between the palm trunks of the smooth shining surface of the river, over which numbers of brilliantly coloured kingfishers darted to and fro like the falling fragments of a shattered rainbow. Presently we emerged on the river-bank at a likely looking spot for a crossing. As we did so, a sliding, slipping sound, followed by a dull splash, warned us of the presence of crocodiles, and an examination of the bank showed us that three or four of the loathsome reptiles had been basking in the sun at that very spot. The tracks were, however, those of comparatively small ones, probably not more than six or eight feet long. Across the river several others of about the same size, as yet unaware of our presence, were basking on the sandbanks. The noise made by the porters soon roused them, and they also disappeared, with a wriggle and a flop, beneath the swirling stream. The river not being very deep, scarcely four feet at the deepest part, we entered the water and waded across, the men shouting and splashing with great vigour, while casting many a sidelong glance at the turbid current. Once across, our search for Lorian had commenced in good earnest, and setting our faces to the eastward, we strode forward on a course parallel to the south bank of the river.