Our way lay through dense plantations, which fully bore out friend Kinuthia’s assertions as to the richness of the district in food-stuffs. In an hour we reached a gently sloping hill, covered with short green grass, on which we pitched our camp. We sent for the chief, who shortly afterwards made his appearance. He seemed a very decent old fellow, and anxious to assist us. We stated our requirements, and he immediately commanded his people to bring us food for sale, and did everything in his power—short of giving anything away himself—to show us that he was friendly and well-disposed towards us. His son, Koranja, a rather good-looking young fellow for a native, had been down to Mombasa with a safari, and spoke Kiswahili fairly well. He seemed very intelligent. Some of the old men of the tribe also spoke Kiswahili, which, we presumed, they had picked up from passing Arab or Swahili safaris. Kinuthia bade us adieu and returned to his own village the other side of the Sagana, having received from us a suitable present of beads, etc., to gladden his heart, or rather the hearts of his wives. Large quantities of food then began to arrive, and we decided to stop where we were for a day or two, and buy at least ten days’ rations for the men, before resuming our journey northwards. We retired that night a great deal easier in our minds about the commissariat than we had been for some days. Next morning the camp was fairly buzzing with natives of all ages and both sexes. Most of them had brought food to sell, but many of them came merely to look at us. Not that we were much to look at; in any civilized community we should have run a great risk of being arrested as vagrants and suspicious characters. El Hakim and George both wore embryo beards, and our appearance generally was rather that of tramps than otherwise. El Hakim had a great affection for a pair of moleskin trousers and a leather jacket, both of which had seen much service. His hat, too, had known better days; but it was an idiosyncrasy of his to wear his clothes on safari work till they were absolutely beyond further mending and patching. On one occasion he was reported to have tramped about the Lykipia plateau for months, clad only in a coloured cloth and a pair of brown boots, with a towel twisted round his head turban-wise, he having lost his only hat. I can vouch for the comfort of such a dress in a good climate such as obtains on the Waso Nyiro, as I tried the experiment myself. [Illustration: THE CAMP AT MARANGA.] [Illustration: BUYING FOOD AT MARANGA. (See page 54.)]