170 MY SOMALI BOOK 



disbelieving anything with which he may be credited. 

 But I find it difficult to believe in any leopard trying 

 to take a lion's kill from under his very nose, however 

 hungry he might be. Anyhow, lion or leopard, he 

 was clearly still alive, and able, for the moment at 

 least, to keep the wardhas at bay ; so however anxious 

 I might be as to the fate of his skin, it was out of the 

 question to think of going to look for him in the dark 

 in that bush. All we could do, and did, was to fire a 

 number of shots in the direction of those weird cres- 

 cendo-diminuendo engine whistles, for that is what the 

 waraba^s gathering cry resembles. His hideous laugh 

 is a very different note, much less frequently uttered, 

 but once heard never to be forgotten. 



At daybreak we were out, and found the spot 



where the wounded animal had lain down, thence 

 followed the blood-tracks into the bush. It took 

 another half -hour's search before we found, in different 

 places, first just the tip of the tail, then the head 

 (part of the skin eaten off), and finally one fore-paw, 

 all that was left of what must have been an excep- 

 tionally large leopard. Disgusting, wasn't it ? The 

 onty thing left to be done was to photograph the other, 

 a very handsome but not very large male. He had 

 evidently gone hungry for several days at least, and 



