We counted.
"You were right, Mavrouki," said I, "there were eight."
At the end of each path was a beaten-down little space where
evidently the beasts had been lying down. With an exclamation the
three gunbearers darted forward to investigate. The lairs were
still warm! Their occupants had evidently made off only at our
approach!
Not five minutes later we were halted by a low warning growl
right ahead. We stopped. The boys squatted on their heels close
to me, and we consulted in whispers.
Of course it would be sheer madness to attack eight lions in
grass so high we could not see five feet in front of us. That
went without saying. On the other hand, Mavrouki swore that he
had yesterday seen no small cubs with the band, and our
examination of the tracks made in soft earth seemed to bear him
out. The chances were therefore that, unless themselves attacked
or too close pressed, the lions would not attack us. By keeping
just in their rear we might be able to urge them gently along
until they should enter more open cover. Then we could see.
Therefore we gave the owner of that growl about five minutes to
forget it, and then advanced very cautiously. We soon found where
the objector had halted, and plainly read by the indications
where he had stood for a moment or so, and then moved on.
