THE FIRST LION 



set in. Behind us marched the three gunbearers, all 

 abreast, very military and proud. Then came the 

 porters in single file, the one carrying the folded lion 

 skin leading the way; those bearing the waterbuck 

 trophy and meat bringing up the rear. They kept 

 up an undertone of humming in a minor key; oc- 

 casionally breaking into a short musical phrase in 

 full voice. 



We rode an hour. The camp looked very cool 

 and inviting under its wide high trees, with the river 

 slipping by around the islands of papyrus. A num- 

 ber of black heads bobbed about in the shallows. 

 The small fires sent up little wisps of smoke. Around 

 them our boys sprawled, playing simple games, 

 mending, talking, roasting meat. Their tiny white 

 tents gleamed pleasantly among the cool shadows. 



I had thought of riding nonchalantly up to our 

 own tents, of dismounting with a careless word of 

 greeting 



"Oh, yes," I would say, "we did have a good 

 enough day. Pretty hot. Roy got a fine waterbuck. 

 Yes, I got a lion." (Tableau on part of Billy.) 



But Memba Sasa used up all the nonchalance 

 there was. As we entered camp he remarked cas- 

 ually to the nearest man. 



"Bwana na piga simba — the master has killed 

 a lion." 



121 



