The rest-house compound at Gidan Gombo had within it quite an assemblage of natives who were tramping to Naraguta district attracted by the expectation of employment at the tin fields. Not labourers—they sleep in villages—but Coast mechanics and similar workmen and interpreters. In a rest-house compound are a number of smaller mud huts for the carriers, and in these shelters coloured men pass the night. There was a lad among them said to be son of the former Emir of Kano. If so, the scion of royalty had been much reduced in position. He—who whether the story be true or not was evidently of a superior caste—had been servant to Captain Maclaverty, of Zungeru, and was walking to Naraguta with a friend of the family—an interpreter—to enter the service of an Englishman there. These rest-houses are put up by the Government. But for them one must perforce carry a tent or go to a native village, not an ideal place in which to sleep, from the health or any other point of view. The rest-house usually consists of a fairly stout circular mud wall, round which is a lower one, the intervening space covered by the sloping roof and forming a verandah. Rest-houses are in charge of the Headman of an adjacent village. He collects, for the Government, 2s. per night from each occupant, the payment including a supply of wood and water. If required, he has to sell for himself, at fixed rates, fowls and guinea corn for horses. It is quite a little ceremony at some places where the Headman, accompanied by one or two village elders, pays his respects to the white visitor by coming to the rest-house, and there on knees saluting, by bowing the head and exclaiming several times, “Zaki! Zaki! Zaki!”—literally “Lion”—corresponding to “Sir” or “Your Honour” or “Your Lordship.” The visitor gravely replies “Agaisheka!” (“Hail to you!”) and then proceeds to business by stating his requirements in the matter of supplies and asking how much he has to pay. After the evening meal prepared by his servants in a cook-house in the compound, bed is the usual order of procedure. The start next morning was at 6.30. I did not accompany the carriers but turned back to look for a Swan fountain pen jerked out of my pocket the previous afternoon and immensely valued not so much for its great convenience on a journey of this kind, when writing must be done at odd moments anywhere, but still more prized at being the gift from former colleagues. Nearly an hour’s search along the road failed to discover the article, so the forlorn hope was abandoned, and I turned round to overtake the carriers.[3] They would be, of course, about two hours in advance.