Nothing disturbed the work of the settlement during the daytime. The Indian carpenters were making good progress with the bungalow and the other sheds which Mr. Halliday had decided to erect on the north side, nearest the river. The soil outside the boma was being slowly prepared for crops, and finding after a few days that his Wakamba porters were but indifferent labourers, Mr. Halliday dismissed them, resolving to rely upon the people of the neighbouring villages for such farm labour as he required. He intended to bring only a small area under cultivation at first, for the purpose of growing enough grain and vegetables for his own consumption. Difficulties of transit would prevent him from dealing in farm produce; the work of driving his cattle by and by over a hundred miles to market would no doubt prove arduous enough. But though the days were thus placid, the nights became a horror. If a watch was kept, the peace of the encampment was undisturbed except by the remote and harmless roars; but as soon as the weary Englishmen determined to enjoy a full night’s rest, the thorn fence would be broken at some new spot, and when the sheep and cattle were numbered in the morning it was found that one or more was missing. The natives became scared, and as for Mr. Halliday, he declared it was positively uncanny. "One would think the beasts have the gift of second sight," he said. "I don’t wonder our village friends kept their cattle off these grounds and believed in Gilmour’s devil." The only incident that relieved the tension and afforded a little amusement was the discovery one morning that the lion in his haste had snatched up a bag of rice, which was found at some little distance, the grains scattered about as though the thief had lost his temper when he became aware of the mistake. It was fortunate indeed for the little community that the lions were apparently not man-eaters. A lion that has once tasted man thenceforth scorns lesser fare, and Coja told his employers harrowing stories of the reign of terror under which the coolies who had been engaged in laying the Uganda railway had lived. Night after night the terrible beasts had crept into the native encampments and stolen forth in dead silence with their hapless prey, ceasing their depredations for months at a time, but returning when the men were lulled to security, and beginning their havoc over again. Mr. Halliday had heard of this from Mr. Gillespie in Nairobi; but the story told now by one who had actually lived in the camps thus visited at night, and punctuated by the roaring of lions at a distance, made a much more powerful and harrowing impression. At any moment the lions might become man-eaters. They had only to stumble upon a native in their nocturnal raids and then the life of no man would be safe.