THE FIRST LIONESS 



just about to move when Memba Sasa snapped his 

 fingers. His sharp eyes had discovered her sneaking 

 along, belly to the ground, like the cat she was. 

 The explanation of this change in her gait was 

 simple. Our companions had rounded the corner 

 of the hill and were galloping in plain view a half 

 mile away. The lioness had caught sight of them. 



She was gliding by, dimly visible, through thick 

 brush seventy yards distant. Now I could make 

 out a tawny patch that faded while I looked; now 

 I could merely guess at a melting shadow. 



"Stir her up," whispered Hill. "Never mind 

 whether you hit. She'll sneak away." 



At the shot she leaped fully out into the open with 

 a snarl. Promptly I planted a Springfield bullet 

 in her ribs. She answered slightly to the hit but did 

 not shift position. Her head up, her tail thrashing 

 from side to side, her ears laid back, she stood there 

 looking the landscape over carefully point by point. 

 She was searching for us, but as yet could not locate 

 us. It was really magnificent. 



I attempted to throw in another cartridge, but 

 because of my desire to work the bolt quietly, in 

 order not to attract the lioness's attention, I did not 

 pull it back far enough, and the cartridge jammed 

 in the magazine. As evidence of Memba Sasa's 

 coolness and efficiency, it is to be written that he 



153 



