“One is barefooted and walks as though the rifle were too heavy for him. Stop the car,” I said to Mthuka. We got out.
“Look,” said Ngui. “One walks as though he were very old and can hardly see. The one with shoes.”
“Look,” I said. “The barefoot one walks as though he has five wives and twenty cows. He has spent a fortune on beer.”
“They will get nowhere,” Ngui said. “Look, the one with shoes walks as though he might die at any time. He staggers under the weight of the rifle.”
“What do you think they are doing here?”
“How would I know? Look, the one with shoes is stronger now.”
“He is thinking about the Shamba,” Ngui said.
“Kwenda na Shamba.”
“Ndio,” Ngui said. “How old would you say the old one with the shoes is?”
“None of your damn business,” I said. We motioned for the car and when it got up we got in and I motioned Mthuka toward the entrance to the forest. The driver was laughing and shaking his head.
“What were you two doing tracking yourselves?” Miss Mary said. “I know it’s funny because everybody was laughing. But it looked quite silly.”
“We were having fun.”
I was always depressed by this part of the forest. The elephants had to eat something and it was proper that they should eat trees rather than destroy the native farms. But the destruction was so great in proportion to the amount they ate from the trees they pulled down that it was depressing to see it. Elephants were the only animal that were increasing steadily throughout their present range in Africa. They increased until they became such a problem to the natives that they had to be slaughtered. Then they were killed off indiscriminately. There were men who did this and enjoyed it. They killed old bulls, young bulls, cows and calves and many liked their work. There had to be some sort of elephant control. But seeing this damage to the forest and the way the trees were pulled down and stripped and knowing what they could do in a native Shamba in a night, I started to think about the problems of control. But all the time I was watching for the tracks of the two elephants we had seen leading into this part of the forest. I knew those two elephants and where they would probably go for the day, but until I had seen their tracks and was sure they were past us I must be careful about Miss Mary wandering around looking for a suitable Christmas tree.
We stopped the car and I took the big gun and helped Miss Mary out of the car.
“I don’t need any help,” she said.
“Look, honey,” I started to explain. “I have to stay with you with the big gun.”
“I’m just going to pick out a Christmas tree.”
“I know. But there could be every kind of stuff in here. There has been too.”
“Let Ngui stay with me then and Charo’s here.”
“Honey, I’m responsible for you.”
“You can be an awful bore about it too.”
“I know it.” Then I said, “Ngui.”
“Bwana?”
The joking was all suspended.
“Go and see if the two elephants went into the far forest. Go as far as the rocks.”
“Ndio.”
He went off across the open space watching ahead for tracks in the grass and carrying my Springfield in his right hand.
“I only want to pick one out,” Miss Mary said. “Then we can come out some morning and dig it up and get it back to camp and plant it while it is still cool.”
“Go ahead,” I said. I was watching Ngui. He had stopped once and listened. Then he went on walking very carefully. I followed Miss Mary who was looking at the different silvery thorn shrubs trying to find one with the best size and shape but I kept looking back at Ngui over my shoulder. He stopped again and listened then waved toward the deep forest with his left arm. He looked around at me and I waved him back to us. He came in fast; as fast as he could walk without running.
“Where are they?” I asked.
“They crossed and went into the forest. I could hear them. The old bull and his askari.”
“Good,” I said.
“Listen,” he whispered. “Faro.” He pointed toward the thick forest on the right. I had heard nothing. “Mzuri motocah,” he said, meaning, in shorthand, “Better get into the car.”
“Get Miss Mary.”