THE CHASE OP THE PANTHER 67 



one could readily mistake the cry of a panther for the bray- 

 ing of a jackass. 



I remember a hunt in which I had the chance of making 

 the acquaintance of this beast, and comparing his voice with 

 that of the other inhabitants of the desert. 



On the 16th of July, 1845, I was called by the people of 

 Mahouna, in the district of Guelma, to free them from the 

 presence of a family of lions that had taken up their abode in 

 their country, and were abusing the rights of hospitality. 



After reaching the place, while gaining all the information 

 I could about the residence and habits of these importunate 

 guests, I learned that they came every night to drink at the 

 Ouled-Cherf. I immediately went to the banks of the river, 

 and found not only their tracks, but a regular path they had 

 made in their constant visits. 



The family was a large one, being composed of a father 

 and mother, and three children of full age. 



I was standing near the brook, in the company of a dozen 

 Arabs, and the lions' trail was a few paces in front of me. 

 At one side lay a deep jungle, which according to the 

 natives, was the covert of the royal family. 



Old Taieb, the chief of the country, coming to me and 

 taking . me by the arm, pointed to the numerous tracks 

 deeply impressed in the sand, and said : 



" There are too many, let us go." 



Already, previous to this, I had passed more than a hun- 

 dred nights under the open sky ; sometimes crouched at the 

 bottom of a ravine frequented by lions ; sometimes beating 

 the forest paths, scarcely discernible in the obscurity. I had 



