Roosevelt and the other white hunter had trouble to keep
them together and to keep on the watch, with their rifles ready to
drive off any animals which might attack.
At last they came to the camp of a tribe of savages called Masai.
As they were still four miles from their own camp and as the
porters were about exhausted from carrying the lion, they decided
to go in there, skin the lion and rest for a while. There was some
trouble about this, as the Masai feared that the scent of the dead
lion would scare their cattle. They agreed at last, however,
admitted the white men and the porters, and stood about, in the
fire-light, leaning on their spears, and laughing, while the lion
was being skinned. They gave Roosevelt milk to drink and seemed
pleased to have a call from "Bwana Makuba," the Great Chief, as
the porters called him.
So here was an Ex-President of the United States, not many months
from his work as Chief Magistrate in the Capitol of a civilized
nation, talking to a group of savages, who in their dwellings,
weapons, clothing and customs had hardly changed in three thousand
years; the twentieth century A. D. meeting the tenth century B.C.
At ten o'clock they got back to their own camp, and after a hot
bath, sat down to a supper of eland venison and broiled spur
fowl,--"and surely no supper ever tasted more delicious."
Another day, when hunting with the same companion he had the
experience of being charged by a wounded lion.
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