231 



gether it was not a pretty sight. The nose was 

 unharmed, and its neck, as far as I could make 

 out, unbroken, though I believe a lion usually kills 

 its prey by smashing the vertebrae. We followed 

 the lion's tracks for about a mile, and then lost 

 them in the swamp, so determined to come back 

 early the following morning. 



At dawn we were off. The sky was clear at 

 first but to the north heavy with sullen clouds. 

 The bushes looked fresh and sparkling in the morn* 

 ing sun, and though the ground was not wet it 

 was soft enough to ball unpleasantly, like snow. 

 After a mile or so we went, with a sudden transition, 

 from bright light and blue sky into thick mist. 

 Hyaenas with their noisy lumbering gait moved 

 off into the shadows, clumsily and yet with some 

 indefinable reminiscence of a horse in their action. 

 It was a land of ghouls and misshapen monsters. 

 The trees were twisted into strange and distorted 

 shapes ; the very ground itself seemed to shun our 

 footsteps. The mist beat against our faces in damp, 

 pulseless waves which even the African sun, a faint 

 blue saucer through its intangible folds, could do 

 nothing to pierce. Cobwebs, torn or perfect, hung 

 from the grasses and festooned the sharp spikes of 

 the mimosa thorns. Something big and dark and 

 loathsome flapped up as we drew near the carcase ; 

 from its muddied remains foul winged shapes dis- 

 entangled themselves. Others peered back with 

 twisted naked heads. A dozen marabouts, their 



