We eat what we can pick up, and we lie down to sleep on the bare
ground. We wash seldom, and our clothes wear to pieces on our bodies. We
find we can do without many things, and though we sometimes miss them,
there comes a keen sense of pleasure from being entire master of oneself
and all one's possessions. Your water-bottle hangs on your shoulder;
your haversack, with your blanket, is strapped to your saddle; rifle,
bandolier, and a pair of good glasses are your only other possessions.
As you stand at your pony's side ready to mount, you may be starting for
the day or you may be away a fortnight, but your preparations are the
same.
Above all others does this scouting life develop your faculties, sharpen
your senses of hearing and of seeing, and, in practical ways, of
thinking too; of noting signs and little portents and drawing
conclusions from them; of observing things. You feel more _alive_ than
you ever felt before. Every day you are more or less dependent on your
own faculties. Not only for food and drink for yourself and your pony,
but for your life itself. And your faculties respond to the call. Your
glance, as it scans the rocks and the plain, is more wary and more
vigilant; your ears, as you lie in the scrub, prick themselves at a
sound like a Red Indian's, and the least movement among cattle or game
or Kaffirs, or the least sign that occurs within range of your glasses,
is noticed and questioned in an instant.
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