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Orkies' Journal 8 June '71

June 8, 1971


As we steamed up the Ruaha-Rufiji, we noticed a commotion on the far shore. The smell of tar permeated the air and a glance through the glass showed us about 50 native women clustering about one white man, pulling and jabbing at him and pushing him towards a great pot. Nearby, others were plucking the feathers from chickens and I feared that something rather gruesome was about to happen to this fellow. All of a sudden I realized that this man was our white hunter, Ashley Fawlkes-Wolffingham and all at once he broke from the mob, leapt to a raft and paddled toward us using his rifle as an oar. "What ho, Ash" I ventured. "Just a small tally-ho party", he replied, a spear zipping by his ear. "They don't seem too festive to me," I said. "You should see how the men will take it,"he gasped, "but I'm afraid that we shall just have to miss them for now." "I'll wait if you like," I magnanimized. Ashley loaded his rifle and pointed it at me; "Ass," he hissed. As usual, I knew I had gained another ally by dint of my boundless wit and charm. So, raft in tow we steamed on the great river.

Orkie

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