So we sat down on the banks and had lunch.
Finally our chance came. The trail led us, for the dozenth time,
from the high grass into the thicket along the river. We ducked
our heads to enter. Memba Sasa, next my shoulder, snapped his
fingers violently. Following the direction of the brown arm that
shot over my shoulder, I strained my eyes into the dimness of the
thicket. At first I could see nothing at all, but at length a
slight motion drew my eye. Then I made out the silhouette of a
lion's head, facing us steadily. One of the rear guard had again
turned to halt us, but this time where he and his surroundings
could be seen.
Luckily I always use a Sheard gold bead sight, and even in the
dimness of the tree-shaded thicket it showed up well. The beast
was only forty yards away, so I fired at his head. He rolled over
without a sound.
We took the usual great precautions in determining the
genuineness of his demise, then carried him into the open.
Strangely enough the bullet had gone so cleanly into his left eye
that it had not even broken the edge of the eyelid; so that when
skinned he did not show a mark.
