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.
