XXIV 

 THE FIFTEEN LIONS 



TWO days before Captain Duirs and I were to 

 return to Juja we approached, about eleven 

 o'clock in the morning, a long, low, rugged range 

 of hills called Lucania. They were not very 

 high, but bold with cliffs, buttes, and broken 

 rocky stretches. Here we were to make our final 

 hunt. 



We led our safari up to the level of a boulder flat 

 between two deep canons that ran down from the 

 hills. Here should be water, so we gathered under 

 a lone little tree, and set about directing the simple 

 disposition of our camp. Herbert Spencer brought 

 us a cold lunch, and we sat down to rest and refresh- 

 ment before tackling the range. 



Hardly had we taken the first mouthfuls, however, 

 when Memba Sasa, gasping for breath, came tearing 

 up the slope from the canon where he had descended 

 for a drink. 



"Lions!" he cried guardedly, "I went to drink, 

 and I saw four lions. Two were lying under the 



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