THE CHIEF GAME WARDEN 



twenty-three-hour railway journey in the tropics. 

 You may have had the best possible carriage, the best 

 possible feeding arrangements on that journey, yet I 

 guarantee that when you get down at your destination 

 you will be longing for a bath as greatly as you are 

 longing for a big, cool drink, and when you have had 

 these you will make a dive for the dining-room and 

 eat everything they put before you. You may have 

 fever afterwards — a sudden change in altitude often 

 brings it out — but you usually have time for the bath 

 and the long drink and the dinner first. They almost 

 make up for the fever. 



At the hotel we met Mr. Percival, the Chief Game 

 Warden — the title seems vaguely reminiscent of someone 

 who looks after an American prison — and his assistant, 

 Major Ross, D.S.O. They were exceedingly kind and 

 greatly interested in my work, but the Major nearly 

 succeeded in spoiling our night's rest by informing us 

 that a pair of lions had been seen less than an hour's 

 walk from the hotel that very day, and he proposed that 

 I should photograph them in the morning, preparatory 

 to their being shot as public nuisances. I wanted 

 lion photographs, wanted them very badly, but it seemed 

 a little sudden. I had not yet entered into the spirit 

 of the place. A lion still appeared to be quite a 

 formidable beast, something which was best in a cage 

 or stuffed. 



Still, it had to be done. At five o'clock next morning, 



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