TREKKING THROUGH THE THIRST 167 



loped at a smart pace parallel with the line of trees, hoping 

 to see her in the open. But, as it turned out, as soon as 

 she saw us pass, she crouched in the bed of the donga; we 

 had gone by her a quarter of a mile when a shout from one 

 of our followers announced that he had seen her, and back 

 we galloped, threw ourselves from our horses, and walked 

 toward where the man was pointing. Tarlton took his big 

 double-barrel and advised me to take mine, as the sun 

 had just set and it was likely to be close work; but I shook 

 my head, for the Winchester 405 is, at least for me per- 

 sonally, the "medicine gun" for lions. In another mo- 

 ment up she jumped, and galloped slowly down the other 

 side of the donga, switching her tail and growling; I scram- 

 bled across the donga, and just before she went round a 

 clump of trees, eighty yards off, I fired. The bullet hit 

 her fair, and going forward injured her spine. Over she 

 rolled, growling savagely, and dragged herself into the 

 watercourse; and running forward I finished her with two 

 bullets behind the shoulder. She was a big, fat lioness, 

 very old, with two cubs inside her; her lower canines were 

 much worn and injured. She was very heavy, and prob- 

 ably weighed considerably over three hundred pounds. 



The light was growing dim, and camp was eight or ten 

 miles away. The porters they are always much excited 

 over the death of a lion wished to carry the body whole to 

 camp, and I let them try. While they were lashing it to a 

 pole another lion began to moan hungrily half a mile away. 

 Then we started; there was no moon, but the night was 

 clear and we could guide ourselves by the stars. The por- 

 ters staggered under their heavy load, and we made slow 

 progress; most of the time Tarlton and I walked, with 



