THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



Somehow that confession made me feel a lot bet- 

 ter. I had thought that I was the only one. Cau- 

 tiously we settled back on our heels. Memba Sasa 

 and Simba wiped the sweat from their faces. It 

 seemed that they too had found the work severe. 

 That cheered me up still more. 



Simba grinned at us, and, worming his way back- 

 ward with the sinuousity of a snake, he disappeared 

 in the direction from which we had come. F. cursed 

 after him in a whisper both for departing and for 

 taking the risk. But in a moment he had returned 

 carrying two canteens of blessed wrter. We took 

 a drink most gratefully. 



I glanced at my watch. It was just under two 

 hours since I had fired my shot. I looked back. 

 My supposed quarter mile had shrunk to not over 

 fifty feet! 



After resting a few moments longer, we again took 

 up our systematic advance. 



We made perhaps another fifty feet. We were 

 ascending a very gentle slope. F. was for the mo- 

 ment ahead. Right before us the lion growled ; a deep 

 rumbling like the end of a great thunder roll, fath- 

 oms and fathoms deep, with the inner subterranean 

 vibrations of a heavy train of cars passing a man in- 

 side a sealed building. At the same moment over F.'s 

 shoulder I saw a huge yellow head rise up, the round 



ii8 



