When all the traps had been gathered it was 2.30, and Hanza enquired whether I would stay for the night at a village near by or go on to Badiko, which was three hours’ march. Personally, I would have preferred pushing on, but the men had been out 7½ hours in great heat, had not stopped at any place where they could get a meal, and had three high stream crossings, so after a little consideration I elected to stay at the village overnight. There were notes of gratification at the announcement, and at once we struck inwards, passing, left and right, a plantation set with yams; then between guinea-corn 10 feet high, the stems bending and providing a shaded avenue; ground-nuts just in leaf, set at right-angles to the path and growing on ridges, the furrows as neatly weeded as any kitchen garden in England. As we went across the open fields Hanza called to some people in the distance “Kow abinshi” (“Bring food”), and the cry was gladly repeated by the carriers—“Kow abinshi, Kow abinshi.” The hearers proceeded to carry out the request and to obtain the articles necessary for a little business, which to the Hausa women is second nature. The tiny village into which we stepped was surrounded by guinea-corn taller than I had seen anywhere. The stems were 12 feet from the ground, completely hiding the mud houses. A roomy, circular one, not arranged by the Government—for the place is off the main bush track—but one belonging to the Headman of the village, a Fulani, was placed at my disposal. He brought fowls, a pumpkin, and had yams dug up. The inclusive charge for the house as well was 4s. He explained that no guinea-corn could be spared for the horses, so the doki boys were sent to cut grass. Next morning came the villagers who had shown the river crossing. They were given 6d. each. As I came out of the house the second doki boy appeared. He wanted a “dash” for having swum his horse across the river the previous day. I asked him for what he thought I paid him wages; he shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Then I said that any “dash” I might give him would be at the end, not the beginning of his services, when I knew how he had done his work. Again a broad smile. Finally, I told the gentleman that the next time he asked for a “dash” I would discharge him instantly. A bow, and a “To, Zaki”—(“Very good, sir”)—was the acknowledgment. The “To”—pronounced “Taw”—was repeated by the circle of carriers who had come, doubtless at his invitation, to see the result of the doki boy’s experiment with the new master. It had failed. To get to Juga that day was not within the range of trekking at this season, so Badiko, where I had calculated to be more than 40 hours earlier, was selected for the day’s halt. The village Headman led the way from the village—the name of which I gathered phonetically as Lafee Sala—through a maze of growing guinea-corn to open country. At the edge of the plantation, land formerly cultivated had reverted to a wild state.