On the opposite bank of the Waso Nyiro was a small village of mixed Rendili and Burkeneji, the elders of which paid us a visit during the course of the day. They brought us four sheep as a present, and in return we gave them the remainder of our stock of beads and some cloths, with which they were delighted. They left us in the evening, and as a special honour, and to secure them from the attacks of crocodiles while crossing the river, El Hakim lit a blue flare, and giving it to the awestruck chief, he and his followers departed. It was very amusing to see the way the chief held it. He was half afraid of it, but did not care to show as much before his followers, so he held it at arm’s length, shuddering with apprehension every time it dropped a few sparks. On the morning of September 29th, it being the sixth day subsequent to Ismail’s accident, we considered our obligation to linger in the district at an end. Scarcely had we come to that decision when a messenger from Ismail brought word that the Somalis had finally decided to go north to Marsabit. On hearing this message, we sent our blessing to Ismail, which, I expect, got the messenger into trouble—that is, if he ventured to deliver it, which I doubt—and we started for M’thara in earnest. We passed the hill which had occasioned George and myself so much trouble on our journey down the river, passing between it and the river by a narrow path which wound round its southern scarp. We halted at a boma that we found near the river, which had been built by Ismail on his journey to the Rendili. The men reported a hippo in a pool some way up the river, and we accordingly went forth to slay it. We found the pool at the lower end of the rapids, which extend from the foot of the Chanler Falls for nearly a mile below. We found the hippo there, and George banged at it with the 8-bore. It was the first time this weapon had been used during the trip, and George, being unfamiliar with the sighting, missed the brute’s brain, merely drilling a hole in its skull and stunning it. It never gave us another chance, so we had to leave the pool without our hippo. On the way back to camp we sighted two giraffe on the other side of the river, which were coming down to the water’s edge to drink. I took a shot at 200 yards with the ·303 and wounded the foremost, which immediately dashed away, followed by its companion. Being unwilling to let it go, I jumped into the river, which, though the current was very swift, was at that point not more than four feet in depth. Followed by two or three of the men, I waded across and resumed the chase of the wounded giraffe. I found it a few hundred yards further on, and planked another solid bullet into it, which had the effect of once more starting it off at a gallop.