AT GRIPS WITH THE LION 65 



little bushman was bred in a hard school of 

 " waste not, want not," and stuck to his meatless, 

 lion-slobbered hocks. 



We soon found that the lions had been camping 



quite close to their kill, and on hearing us had 



galloped off, as their tracks showed. Taking 



Qumano with me, and the other boys following, 



we started again on the track as hard as we could, 



the spoor leading through light sand where the 



tracking was good. After about a mile or so we 



got our first glimpse of the lions on the move, 



perhaps a quarter of a mile ahead. I now took 



Tatello alone with me, and telling the others to 



follow well back, we set off in the hope of catching 



up the lions. As we followed them, we had 



glimpses of them from time to time, ahead between 



the broken bush, half walking, half jogging, their 



heads held somewhat low, for all the world like 



three huge mastiffs. They seemed anxious, and 



at times would stop and look back over their 



shoulders. Finally, when I judged we were 



nearly parallel to them, I ran up alongside a big 



ant heap. 



The hons were now crossing a bit of open 

 country ahead at possibly 400 yards distance from 

 me, a big male in the middle with two lionesses ; 

 they were all on the move and I made up my mind 

 to have a shot at the lion while I had the chance. 

 My bullet hit him hard, knocking him right round, 

 and thereupon he gave a violent display of bad 

 temper, tearing up the ground, staggering about 

 5 



