Last year drought conditions obtained in Somaliland, and many people, among others Abokr Fahia, were hard put to it to procure food. All Abokr's milk camels were dry, and it was a case of having to slaughter an animal. His choice fell on Wais Kurmaneh's she-camel, which he looted and killed. He does not attempt to deny that he looted this camel, but he denies it was pregnant. Wais Kurmaneh says it was, but how is he going to prove it; the camel is dead. When the latter found out what had happened to his she-camel he lay in wait near Abokr Fahia's kurria until a favourable opportunity presented itself, when he looted one of his she-camels in revenge. But this camel he did not kill, and, shortly after he had seized it, it gave birth to a baby camel; therefore the Gadabursi claim that the Rer Kul man looted two camels from their man and must return the baby, which they have claimed for as one camel. They consider they hold a strong position as the original camel looted being dead (and dead camels tell no tales) it cannot be proved to have been pregnant. But their reasoning is not my reasoning. They find it hard to explain why they hid the true facts of the case a year ago, and neglected to explain, until it was dragged out of them, that the whole case was trumped up on an affair of cross-looting. Nevertheless both parties considered they had a _bonâ fide_ case, and both parties felt aggrieved that they got nothing out of it all but a sound wigging. Never mind, better luck next time. I go through the rest of the petitions; nearly all claims for ordinary debt, and settled in much the same way as similar cases are settled in England. There are the usual petitions from divorced women for payment of their mehr, or maintenance, for their children, with a request that the D.C. will put the screw on, and, as an inducement to do so, he is assured of the lifelong prayers of the petitioners in reward. Buralli has one or two criminal cases to settle. A small boy about five years old is placed in the dock, and charged with the theft of two rupees from the old lady who makes the earthenware pots. According to her the baby prisoner is a desperado of the deepest dye. Has he not been the cause of her losing two silver rupees? But when we turn him upside down, and the stolen money falls with a jingle on the floor, she says: "He is only a child, Sahib, let him go." And I let him go. He is branded for ever, child as he is, as a sneak thief. Had he waited until he was older, and held up an old woman on the road with his spear, threatening to take her life unless she handed over her one and only camel on which was packed all her worldly possessions, he would have been regarded as a hero, and might lord it with the best of his brigand friends in the mosque or in the town. But now he is only a thief who stole two rupees, and was arrested by the police. Decent people will hound him from their doors. A strange thing, public opinion!