A great disappointment awaited us here. On going to the ant-hill in which I had buried the buffalo horns, we found that, in spite of the ants, the hyænas had disinterred and utterly destroyed them. My large pair were gone, and also the other two pairs buried with them, there being nothing left beyond a few splinters of bone. The baby water-buck died in the evening, having steadfastly refused to feed since its capture, and resisting to the utmost of its power our well-meant efforts to help it. During the next day’s march we met the men whom we had sent to M’thara four days before. To our immense satisfaction, they bore the two boxes of provisions which had occupied our thoughts for so many weary days. They were about to tell us something concerning hostile natives at M’thara, but we had motioned them away, desiring that nothing, especially bad news, should interfere with our first civilized meal, and so detract from our enjoyment. Ordering a halt, we got to work with a screw-driver while the tents were being erected. Ramathani exerted himself, and in an incredibly short time a steaming pot of oatmeal porridge awaited our attention. After two months of meat, that oatmeal tasted as never oatmeal tasted before. When it was finished, Ramathani brought us some broiled zebra collops, and with mustard, pepper, and a bottle of Worcester sauce, they made a dish fit for a monarch. There were also biscuits, jam, and a couple of tins of butter, and as a wind up, we opened a pound tin of mincemeat, and, passing the tin round, ate it with a spoon. To crown our enjoyment, a box of cigars and a bottle of vermouth were discovered, and as we inhaled the first smoke for weeks we would not have changed places with anybody.