THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



The man leaped to his feet. 



"Simba! simba! simba!" he yelled. ''Na piga 

 simba!" 



Every one In camp also leaped to his feet, taking 

 up the cry. From the water it was echoed as the 

 bathers scrambled ashore. The camp broke into 

 pandemonium. We were surrounded by a dense 

 struggling mass of men. They reached up scores 

 of black hands to grasp my own; they seized from 

 me everything portable and bore it in triumph be- 

 fore me — my water bottle, my rifle, my camera, my 

 whip, my field glasses, even my hat, everything that 

 was detachable. Those on the outside danced and 

 lifted up their voices in song, Improvised for the 

 most part, and in honor of the day'g work. In a 

 vast swirling, laughing, shouting, triumphant mob 

 we swept through the camp to where Billy — by 

 now not very much surprised — was waiting to get 

 the official news. By the measure of this extrava- 

 gant joy could we gauge what the killing of a lion | 

 means to these people who have always lived under 

 the dread of his rule. 



X2? 



