AT GRIPS WITH THE LION 73 



And the shaggy giant's terrific fangs 



Are ready to crush and tear ; 

 Should you miss one vision of home and friends, 



Five words of unfinish'd prayer, 

 Three savage knife stabs, your sport ends 

 In the worrying grapple that chokes and rends — 



Rare sport at least for the bear." 



These lines came into my head while I waited 

 kneeling. I thought of the beautiful buck I had 

 shot from time to time, and " Hang it all, here 

 goes," I said to myself ; " I must have a cut at 

 this." Of course, it may seem very foolish now, 

 but that is how I felt at the time. 



Hardly was my mind thus made up when I 

 distinctly heard the lion. Plainly he was lessening 

 the distance between us, and I could hear him 

 breathing as though in distress, like a horse gone 

 in the wind. Slight puffs of breeze (the wind 

 was blowing almost straight from the lion to me) 

 made me lose the sound of his breathing, and then 

 as these puffs died down I could again pick up 

 the sound. It was impossible to see him, but at 

 any rate I could now locate roughly the direction in 

 which he was lying. 



Another longish wait followed, and now it 

 seemed that he had stopped, for the sounds came 

 no closer. Expecting every minute to catch a 

 glimpse of him through the low bushes, I began 

 very carefully and slowly (with a " the head 

 master wishes to see you after twelve " feeling) 

 to work my way towards where I heard him, 

 stopping to listen every time a gust of wind 



