THE LAST FRONTIER 



the rifle. As I had no more cartridges for this arm, 

 I approached to within sixty yards, and stopped to 

 wait either for him to fall, or for a very distant 

 Memba Sasa to come up with more cartridges. 

 Then the zebra waked up. He put his ears back and 

 came straight in my direction. This rush I took for 

 a blind death flurry, and so dodged off to one side, 

 thinking that he would of course go by me. Not at 

 all! He swung around on the circle too, and made 

 after me. I could see that his ears were back, his 

 eyes blazing, and his teeth snapping with rage. It 

 was a malicious charge, and, as such, with due de- 

 liberation, I offer it to sportsman's annals. As I had 

 no more cartridges I ran away as fast as I could go. 

 Although I made rather better time than ever I had 

 attained to before, it was evident that the zebra 

 would catch me; and as the brute could paw, bite, 

 and kick, I did not much care for the situation. 

 Just as he had nearly reached me, and as I was trying 

 to figure on what kind of a fight I could put up with 

 a clubbed rifle barrel, he fell dead. To be killed 

 by a lion is at least a dignified death; but to be 

 mauled by a zebra! 



We generally got back from our walks or rides 

 just before dark; to find the house gleaming with 

 lights, a hot bath ready, and a tray of good wet 

 drinks next the easy chairs. There, after changing 



400 



