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the events described at the close of the last chapter succeeded one another very rapidly. I do not think that four hours in all could have passed from the beginning of Bomero's last harangue until Jack and I stood together over Gioro's grave. The sun had not reached the meridian; the atmosphere was perfectly clear; and the triple peak which had been the signal of so much disaster stood out clear and well-defined in the west.

What were we to do now? Were we to stay here and die like starved bandicoots when the first drought should come on? That was the question in both our minds, and that was the form in which Jack expressed it. "Let us get some food first," said I, "and then we shall see. Thank God it is easy enough still to get food." We soon lit a fire and shot some duck, and