46S The Hunting Grounds 



down a steep ravine, about six feet deep, among a lot 

 of thorny bushes. A stream of water, nearly a foot 

 in depth, was flowing at the bottom, and I again fell 

 into this, rifle and all, as I was striving to regain my 

 footing. 



Whilst in this predicament I heard a crackling of 

 the brushwood, and a loud roar close to, and I saw 

 the dark outline of the lion scrambling up the 

 opposite bank. I threw up my rifle and pulled 

 the trigger, but the charge was wet and the caps 

 only exploded. What would I then have given for a 

 breech-loader, when, had I even suspected the first 

 charge to be damp, I could have substituted a fresh 

 cartridge in two seconds. 



The noise of my fall must have alarmed the lion, 

 for I heard him no more that night. My face, hands, 

 and legs, were full of thorns, my clothes were soaking 

 wet through, my left wrist felt sprained, and all my 

 bones ached with fever, so I groped about for the 

 bank of the ravine, against which I leaned till morn- 

 ing, when I examined the ground. 



Wednesday, 24th. The lion's pugs were very 

 distinctly imprinted in the mud, and at one time 

 he had cleaned his claws against the trunk of a 

 cork-tree, not twenty yards from where I must have 

 been standing. I found my rifle-pit again, after 

 some trouble got my gun and waterproof-sheet, and 

 returned to the douar, where the Arabs made a 



