Soon after daybreak next morning Hanza’s whistle and Amadu’s musical pipe roused the carriers, who had been sleeping in the scattered huts, near my own, on the small tableland of grass on which the village stood. For the last time in this stage of trekking they headed their loads and we were off towards Naraguta. There are no fresh features of the country, which, however, is rather more open and flat. The tall hills on the left are of irregular height, and towards Naraguta they bend inwards to the path to a point where the way, after a short climb, is through a gorge. That leads to another broad expanse of country, also edged by a series of unconnected hills which in their turn bend inwards. Swerving round the end of them one rides on to the sub plateau which contains Naraguta. A wide panorama is unfolded, circled by hills clearly and sharply defined against the sky background, and beyond these hills, showing between them, are others, fainter by the blue haze covering them as though it were gauze, giving the effect of what artists term “distance.” Across this panorama of verdure there are, perhaps three or four miles away, clusters of little brown circular objects, which look as though they were mushrooms on the plain. A telescope or field-glasses would disclose them as mud huts, the settlement of natives drawn to Naraguta for employment of one kind or another, whilst further evidence of human occupation is a squarely-cornered bungalow, nearly as small as the huts but distinct. This sub plateau, slightly sloping to the middle, where runs the Deleme River, and fringed by hills which rise gradually, is covered with green. So are the hills. They give a dozen or more tints as the grass is fresh or dry and as the sun shines directly or as its rays are modified in varying degrees by passing clouds that render patches of shade and contrasting brightness. The atmosphere is clear and affords full vision all round the plateau, and a picture so long round that the clouds in some parts are quite different to those in others. It can be seen, as we survey the scene, that whilst in one district against the hills there is a clear sky, adjoining that area rain is evidently falling. A ride of about three miles with all this enchanting scenery and we are near the centre of the plateau. It was within half-an-hour of completing our journey that the weather, which had behaved splendidly, altered. The rainstorm which had been witnessed from afar was coming towards us and in a few minutes the poor carriers were cold and dripping. They had to stand through the downpour whilst I went forward to find the correct one of several paths, and when I came back to lead them to the bungalow placed at my disposal by Mr Frank D. Bourke, Manager of Naraguta Tin Mine, none felt more miserable at their condition than I.