THE LAST FRONTIER 



hyenas, jackals, and carrion birds seize their chance. 

 The astute hunter can often diagnose the case by the 

 general actions and demeanour of these camp fol- 

 lowers. A half dozen sour and disgusted looking 

 hyenas seated on their haunches at scattered inter- 

 vals, and treefuls of mournfully humpbacked vul- 

 tures sunk in sadness, indicate that the lion has 

 decided to save the rest of his zebra until to-morrow 

 and is not far away. On the other hand, a grand 

 flapping, snarling Kilkenny-fair of an aggregation 

 swirling about one spot in the grass means that the 

 principal actor has gone home. 



It is ordinarily useless to expect to see the lion 

 actually on his prey. The feeding is done before 

 dawn, after which the lion enjoys stretching out in 

 the open until the sun is well up, and then retiring 

 to the nearest available cover. Still, at the risk of 

 seeming to be perpetually qualifying, I must in- 

 stance finding three lions actually on the stale car- 

 cass of a waterbuck at eleven o'clock in the morning 

 of a piping hot day! In an undisturbed country, 

 or one not much hunted, the early morning hours up 

 to say nine o'clock are quite likely to show you 

 lions sauntering leisurely across the open plains 

 toward their lairs. They go a little, stop a little, 

 yawn, sit down a while, and gradually work their 

 way home. At those times you come upon them 



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