"Probably a puff adder," Brian said. "Come round this way, Melva." We detoured around the grass clump and started off again. Brian walked just behind Goa, and both of them carried rifles. Sandy stayed close behind her father, followed by Melva, who set off bravely but was out of condition; like her husband and most other East Africans, she is a heavy smoker. Try as she would, she soon slowed Brian Nicholson at lonides's grave, Nandanga Mountain. SAND RIVERS down, very red in the face, in the thick high grass and humid heat and the steepening hill. "1 do wish my legs weren't so short," she sighed. Melva suggested that Hugo and I carry on without her, but we didn't wish to leave her behind: elephant and buffalo dung was fresh and plentiful, and the grass in places was well over our heads. Melva tried again, and again slowed down. The Warden was now far ahead, not looking back, though Sandy did so, a bit worried; Sandy herself was more hardy than she looked and was going strong.
