10U JUUKJNJfiY WITHOUT MAPS

really knew the way, because Ganta was in Liberia,
another country, and though the Mandingo traders
recognise no boundaries, their country stretching
from Timbuctoo to the Coast and Paris, across desert
and forest, the ordinary tribesman has seldom moved
more than a day's march from his town. The
boundaries between country and country, as between
tribe and tribe, might be no more than a tiny stream
the carriers waded through beneath a shower of
butterflies, but they could not have been more
definite if all the Eureopean display of barbed wire
and Customs sheds had been visible on either
bank.

The chief strapped on a sword and acted as guide.
I was glad that he set so smart a pace: if we were
ever to reach Ganta, I thought, the men had got to
be raced through the villages between. I had
promised them a short march of three hours; but I
was afraid my temper would give way altogether if
I had to argue them on at every village. So we raced
ahead, the chief and I and Kolieva, and left my
cousin and the men to follow; I knew the carriers
hadn't the resolution to stop behind without me.

It took exactly three hours to get to Galaye, a
populous little town with the remains of old mud
walls at the back like pieces of abandoned scenery.
The rest-house here was in such a state of decay that
I wouldn't use it and chose a hut in the village in-
stead. It was a hospitable place; few of the younger
people had seen a white face before and they stood
all day in the doorway. There was nothing you could
do without their noticing it; to draw a handkerchief
from the pocket caused a craning of necks. It worked