THE LAST FRONTIER 



mal brought me to the lead, so that for the second 

 time I drew up facing the lions, and at about one 

 hundred yards range. One by one they began to 

 leave as before, very leisurely and haughtily, until 

 a single old maned fellow remained. He, however, 

 sat there, his great round head peering over the top 

 of the grass. 



"Well," he seemed to say, "here I am, what do 

 you intend to do about it?" 



The others arrived, and we all dismounted. B. 

 had not yet killed his lion, so the shot was his. 

 Billy very coolly came up behind and held his horse. 

 I should like here to remark that Billy is very ter- 

 rified of spiders. F. and I stood at the ready, and 

 B. sat down. 



Riding fast an exciting mile or so, getting chucked 

 on your head two or three times, and facing your 

 first lion are none of them conducive to steady shoot- 

 ing. The first shot therefore went high, but the 

 second hit the lion square in the chest, and he rolled 

 over dead. 



We all danced a little war dance, and congratu- 

 lated B. and turned to get the meaning of a queer 

 little gurgling gasp behind us. There was Fundi! 

 That long-legged scarecrow, not content with run- 

 ning to get us and then back again, had trailed us 

 the whole distance of our mad chase over broken 



184 



