Folder 427

star in a black pool, and the faint lisp of water. "Maji m'zuri!" repeated my guide. I dropped on all fours, bent low, and drank; the water was cool and sweet. Little secret sounds as of insects -- little glimmers like elfin eyes -- a dead leaf fell to the water's surface and floated past my nose. "Tut kwnda?" (Shall we be going?) I said, getting to my feet. My host led the way up a branch canyon over a riot of rocks and roots and under fallen tress to the farther level of a comparatively smooth country. A mile and a half, dodging thorn bushes, and stumbling amid loose stones, brought us to a goat corral where two boys awaited their father. I had looked anxiously in all directions during our walk, for the camp fire I expected to see, to lead me back to my friends, but all in vain. In a colloquy of which I understood not a syllable, the boys were informed concerning me. A part of it, apparently, had to do with the camp I was hoping to find, and I divined it was adverse to my hopes.