"Don’t speak of it, man," said Mr. Halliday hastily. "We’re out on business--strictly on business, and we’ve no time for playing till we’ve fixed on our land. Where is this Mount Kenya, anyway? John Gilmour--d’ye know him?--was out hunting a while ago, and he wrote me he’d found the very place for me, somewhere south-east of Mount Kenya; he stuck a post in the ground to mark the spot, and I’ve the directions written down somewhere." "Mount Kenya’s a bit north-east of us, a hundred miles or so. Fine country, too." "And how do you get there?" "Well, the ground’s not exactly fit for motor-cars yet, and horses don’t thrive. You can get mules, but they’re apt to be a trouble, so I guess you’d better tramp it. You’ll have to carry food with you, and a load of ’trade’ for the natives; we’ll have to see about getting carriers for you; you pay ’em about four rupees a month, and feed ’em. Their food don’t cost much; you can get a hundredweight of native grain and red beans for three or four rupees, and if you’re good shots you can provide yourselves with plenty of meat on the way." "There’s no fear of trouble with the natives, I suppose?" "Not if you don’t go too far north. South of Kenya they’re friendly enough as a rule, but there are wild tribes on the east and north. You must have two porters who can shoot; Sniders they’re used to; but don’t let ’em use them except in case of necessity. Do all the game shooting yourselves, and keep a firm hand on the men; they’ll play you all manner of tricks if you don’t. They’re the queerest people God ever made, that’s a fact. They’ll desert at any moment and forfeit their pay, for no reason at all that we can understand. I could tell you of men who’ll carry a load of ninety pounds or more every day for a month on end, and then all at once decamp, hundreds of miles away from their home, and with no earthly chance of getting there. But you’ll find ’em out for yourselves."