164 JOURNEY WITHOUT MAPS

sheath, with a hilt of ivory and brass. He didn't want
to sell; he loved the sword; it had been his father's.
It was pathetic to watch the struggle in his mind
between his love for it and the wealth he was offered.
I raised my bid to twenty-two shillings and the man
nearly gave way. That sum of money would have fed
him, and fed him well, for more than three months.
He lifted up the screen and ran from temptation, back
down the hill into the village, carrying the sword. The
carriers laughed at him as they lay sprawling in the
verandah.

For we led a patriarchal life on trek. Only the
places in which we slept were free from intrusion. If
the hut had a verandah or a room to eat in, it be-
longed .to the carriers too. They sat around, on die
floor, in the hammocks; they slept in corners. It was
assumed that I would always be glad to see them
there, to attend to their wants even in the middle of
a meal, giving them iodine or Epsom salts. At Zigita
a leprous man from the town came, with the sellers,
to be healed, standing dumbly, holding out his rot-
ting hands. Passive misery had been stamped on his
face for a long while, but he had seen the carriers take
medicine from me and one could tell that behind the
misery a spark of belief had been struck in miracles.
It was no good destroying hope and admitting there
was nothing I could do. I gave him a few tablets of
boric acid to dissolve and bathe his hands with.

At half-past six when the leper and the men with
swords to sell had all gone home, the mosquito-screen
was lifted and a stranger slipped in. We were drink-
ing whisky and lime; the hurricane lamp was turned
Jpw to save oil; we couldn't understand what the man