86 IN AFRICA 



looked industriously for lions. On broad, grassy 

 plain, in low scrub, on the slopes of low hills 

 everywhere we looked for them. If a flock of 

 vultures circled above a distant spot we went 

 over at once in the hope of surprising a lion at his 

 kill. Every reed bed was promptly investigated, 

 every dry nullah was explored. McMillan's farm, 

 which is a farm only in name, was scoured without 

 ever a sign or a hint that a lion lurked thereabouts. 

 Mr. McMillan has four lions in a cage, but they 

 snarled so savagely that we hastened away to look 

 for lions elsewhere. The second day we crossed the 

 Nairobi River, the third day we crossed the Indur- 

 uga River, and the fourth day we camped down on 

 the Athi River. Here we struck a clue. Two 

 English settlers came over and told us that lions 

 had been heard the night before near their ranch 

 house, on the slopes of Donyo Sabuk, a high soli- 

 tary round top mountain rising from the Athi 

 Plains, and we determined to organize our first lion 

 hunt. It was here that Mr. Lucas was killed by a 

 lion a short time before. 



A lion hunt, or a lion drive, is quite a ceremony. 

 You take thirty or forty natives, go to the place 

 where the lion was heard, and then beat every bit 

 of cover in the hope of scaring out the beasts. Lions 

 are fond of lying iip during the day in dry reed 

 beds, and when you go out looking for them you are 

 most likely to find them in such places. 



We started, three of us, with forty porters, at 

 about daybreak. At seven o'clock we had climbed 



