Every
few moments we would catch a glimpse of one of those silently
bounding lions, and then we would let out a yell. Also every few
moments one or the other of us would go down in a heap, and would
scramble up and curse, and remount hastily. Billy had better
luck. She had no gun, and belonged a little in the rear anyway,
but was coming along game as a badger for all that.
My own horse had the legs of the others quite easily, and for
that reason I was ahead far enough to see the magnificent sight
of five lions sideways on, all in a row, standing in the grass
gazing at me with a sort of calm and impersonal dignity. I
wheeled my horse immediately so as to be ready in case of a
charge, and yelled to the others to hurry up. While I sat there,
they moved slowly off one after the other, so that by the time
the men had come, the lions had gone. We now had no difficulty in
running into them again. Once more my better animal brought me to
the lead, so that for the second time I drew up facing the lions,
and at about one hundred yards range. One by one they began to
leave as before, very leisurely and haughtily, until a single old
maned fellow remained. He, however, sat there, his great round
head peering over the top of the grass.
"Well," he seemed to say, "here I am, what do you intend to do
about it?"
The others arrived, and we all dismounted. B. had not yet killed
his lion, so the shot was his. Billy very coolly came up behind
and held his horse. I should like here to remark that Billy is
very terrified of spiders. F. and I stood at the ready, and B.
sat down.
Riding fast an exciting mile or so, getting chucked on your head
two or three times, and facing your first lion are none of them
conducive to steady shooting. The first shot therefore went high,
but the second hit the lion square in the chest, and he rolled
over dead.
We all danced a little war dance, and congratulated B. and turned
to get the meaning of a queer little gurgling gasp behind us.
There was Fundi! That long-legged scarecrow, not content with
running to get us and then back again, had trailed us the whole
distance of our mad chase over broken ground at terrific speed in
order to be in at the death. And he was just about all in at the
death. He could barely gasp his breath, his eyes stuck out; he
looked close to apoplexy.
"Bwana! bwana!" was all he could say. "Master! master!"
We shook hands with Fundi.
"My son," said I, "you're a true sport, and you'll surely get
yours later."
He did not understand me, but he grinned. The gunbearers began to
drift in, also completely pumped. They set up a feeble shout when
they saw the dead lion. It was a good maned beast, three feet six
inches at the shoulder, and nine feet long.
We left Fundi with the lion, instructing him to stay there until
some of the other men came up. We remounted and pushed on slowly
in hopes of coming on one of the others.
Here and there we rode, our courses interweaving, looking
eagerly. And lo! through a tiny opening in the brush we espied
one of those elusive gerenuk standing not over one hundred yards
away. Whereupon I dismounted and did some of the worst shooting I
perpetrated in Africa, for I let loose three times at him before
I landed. But land I did, and there was one Lesser Hoodoo broken.
Truly this was our day.
We measured him and started to prepare the trophy, when to us
came Mavrouki and a porter, quite out of breath, but able to tell
us that they had been scouting around and had seen two of the
lions. Then, instead of leaving one up a tree to watch, both had
come pell-mell to tell us all about it. We pointed this out to
them, and called their attention to the fact that the brush was
wide, that lions are not stationary objects, and that, unlike the
leopard, they can change their spots quite readily. However, we
remounted and went to take a look.
Of course there was nothing. So we rode on, rather aimlessly,
weaving in and out of the bushes and open spaces. I think we were
all a little tired from the long day and the excitement, and
hence a bit listless. Suddenly we were fairly shaken out of our
saddles by an angry roar just ahead. Usually a lion growls, low
and thunderous, when he wants, to warn you that you have gone
about far enough; but this one was angry all through at being
followed about so much, and he just plain yelled at us.
He crouched near a bush forty yards away, and was switching his
tail. I had heard that this was a sure premonition of an instant
charge, but I had not before realized exactly what "switching the
tail" meant. I had thought of it as a slow sweeping from side to
side, after the manner of the domestic cat. This lion's tail was
whirling perpendicularly from right to left, and from left to
right with the speed and energy of a flail actuated by a
particularly instantaneous kind of machinery. I could see only
the outline of the head and this vigorous tail; but I took
instant aim and let drive. The whole affair sank out of sight.
We made a detour around the dead lion without stopping to examine
him, shouting to one of the men to stay and watch the carcass.
Billy alone seemed uninfected with the now prevalent idea that we
were likely to find lions almost anywhere.
