

AN ARTFUL TRICK. 



but nervous I certainly was. Still, my mind and 

 brain were clear and ready for action as ever they 

 were, or ever will be. 



" The sun had gone down some minutes, and 

 darkness was rapidly setting in, when I slipped from 

 my seat on to the ledge ; in a moment after I took off 

 my hunting coat and hung it on the muzzle of my 

 musket, then placed the ramrod through the sleeves, 

 so as to keep it in very much the same shape as it 

 would have been on my back. Having regulated 

 these details, I shoved the whole thing over the 

 upper ledge where I had so lately been sitting. 



" The lion was hungry and impatient, for scarcely 

 was this done when my coat was torn away and my 

 gun and ramrod hurled into the bottom of the kloof. 

 But they did not go alone. No ; my assailant was 

 with them, and there he remained all night, either 

 grumbling over a broken leg, or his disappointment 

 at not having me for supper. 



"A colder night I never passed in my life, but 

 endure it and make the best of it I had to. In the 

 morning, however, I had my reward; for I found the 

 lion with one of his forelegs smashed at the shoulder, 

 and otherwise so injured that he could scarcely 

 crawl. The old musket was but little hurt by its 

 fall, little enough, at least, not to prevent it going 

 off, and in doing so place a bullet in my late 

 antagonist's brain, when its muzzle was not above a 

 yard from his head. 



