130 THE GAME OF BRITISH EAST AFRICA. 



make a gradual transformation to plain-land. The wind is from behind, so you 

 expect to see nothing, but on crossing a rise two light-coloured forms start up 

 from the bottom and make for the opposite slope, which is dotted with thorn- 

 bushes. It is a lion and lioness that have lingered over their meal till after sunrise. 



It looks hopeless to bring them to bag, for they have your wind and are making 

 good their retreat at something over three hundred yards. The lion stops for a 

 moment and turns to look, standing broadside on. Now, although this shot would 

 be unsporting with a buck, the case is different with a lion. For even if it is but 

 slightly wounded it is almost certain to make for the nearest cover and there lie up. 

 If you really intend to devote the day to following it up you are almost certain to 

 come up with it sooner or later, whereas if it is unwounded it will make off none the 

 worse. Very different is the case with a buck, which often manages to escape even 

 when quite badly stricken. So you decide to take a shot at the lion at the distance 

 offering, and hurriedly fire just as it has finished its momentary inspection and is 

 again on the move. An answering roar tells that the bullet has gone home, and in a 

 moment both lion and lioness are swallowed up in bush. You hurry after them and 

 cross the bottom, where you see the shin-bone of a zebra gnawed off from the knee, 

 and you run up the opposite slope. On arriving at the spot at which the lions were 

 last seen you find a large thick clump of thorn. Passing quickly down one side of this 

 for several hundred yards, till the thorn gets a little less dense, you enter there at 

 right angles to try to discover if the animals have already passed the spot. Presently 

 the native tracker discovers a spoor leading through the thinner thorn and then across 

 a watercourse into the thicker bush beyond. He is all keenness, but the size of the 

 spoor is mistrustful. However, it is but dimly marked on the hard ground, and you 

 follow on for some distance till at last some clearer marks show up which are too 

 small for those of a full-grown male, so must belong to the lioness. You decide to 

 return, much to the chagrin of the tracker, who is convinced that your only chance 

 is to forge ahead on the spoor. He is all keenness now, but if you were to follow 

 the spoor for an hour or so he would soon get bored and want to give up. So you 

 return to the spot where the lions were last seen, and after a brief search find where 

 they entered. One of the spoors is much bigger than the other, and there are signs 

 of a leg having been dragged, so your hopes run high again. 



You follow the spoors into the thick thorn, bending almost double to pass 

 beneath branches, thorns catch your hat and clothes and tear your face and 

 arms and legs, but what matter? There is now blood on the spoor and signs 

 that the leg has dragged heavily, so it is only a matter of time and patience. 

 The lion is really quite close at hand, and in the first instance you had overshot 



