LION HUNTING IN AFRICA. 107 



form symmetrical groves and little copses all over the plains, while vari- 

 colored flowers fill the atmosphere with their intoxicating flavors, and relieve 

 the monotony of the waving grass, where herds of wild and tamed animals 

 rove around, and beautiful singing-birds adorned with the most brilliant 

 feather shrouds, glittering in all the colors of the rainbow, enliven the somber 

 hue of the landscape. But all this marvelous mosaic of nature could not 

 captivate the eyes of our mighty hunter. He had already tasted the exhilarat- 

 ing excitement of the contest for the bigger game, and was eagerly longing 

 for another chance to make use of his skill. And this opportunity was not 

 long in coming. As they were marching along at a rapid pace a large 

 maneless lion's tawny shape was suddenly seen at some distance, through the 

 tall grass. The beaters, encouraged through the prowess and boldness of the 

 illustrious American hunter, approached its crouching form less cautiously 

 than usual. The beast saw its dangerous situation and with a terrible roar 

 came bounding straight on the foremost beater. Terror stricken, the man 

 turned and ran towards the Colonel for protection. He, too, was on a run, 

 though in the opposite direction. Two lives were in jeopardy. Nothing but' 

 a sure aim and a quick hand could save from death. But Mr. Roosevelt 

 lived up to his reputation. With the same cool presence of mind that has 

 characterized all his actions, whether leading his Rough Riders to victory 

 against the Spanish lines or at the helm of our government in fight against 

 reckless lawbreakers, he instantly sized up the situation and acted accord- 

 ingly. The lion turned its right flank towards him and held its head down 

 in the tall grass, thus making it impossible to hit its most vulnerable parts — 

 the heart or the brain. But swift as a lightning flash the ex-Presidential bullet 

 came whirring through the air and struck the beast right through the spine 

 and down he went, to rise no more. 



It was a master shot, indeed, and the alert and quick-eyed natives were 

 not loath in appreciating the unequaled skill of a hunter who, in one day 

 and on his first lion hunt, had killed three of these ferocious marauders under 

 so thrilling and exciting circumstances. 



The lions were skinned by the natives and carried to the camp, where 

 the African beaters and bearers celebrated the events of the day in the usual 

 way, by songs and dances, for the killing of a lion is always made an occasion 

 of festivities among the native tribes. 



The spoils of the day having been disposed of, and the hides properly 

 cared for by Mr. Heller, the professional taxidermist of the expedition, the 



