Phil Robinson, Under the Sun — Hunting of the Soko (1882)
“ I came nearer, and took its hand as it hung on Mabruki’s shoulder. The muscles, gradually contracting in death, made it seem as if there was a gentle pressure of my palm, and then — the thing died. Life left it so suddenly that we could not believe that all was over. But the Soko was really dead, and close to where he lay I had him buried. “Master said he wanted the Soko’s skin,” said Shumari, in a weak voice, reminding me of my words of a few days before. “No, no,” I said; “bury the wild man quickly. We shall march at once.” ”
