Sporting Trips of a Subaltern 



proud, as indeed he might be, as few men have 

 been at hand-grips with a lion and lived. 



I had just sat down to have some breakfast, 

 which, amid all the excitements of the morning, 

 I had not yet done, when in galloped a Somali, 

 with news of yet another lion. Cutting my 

 meal short, and filling my pockets with biscuits, 

 I rode off again. About ten miles out, up rolled 

 a thunderstorm and torrents of rain. We held on, 

 however, but on reaching the place where we 

 were to have picked up the tracks, they were 

 almost washed out ; we could only find one here 

 and there, so, after some very slow and laborious 

 tracking, we had to give it up. Biding home, I 

 shot a very fine oryx bull. 



Here, in case any one may accuse us of killing 

 too much game, let me say that we generally 

 confined ourselves to old, solitary bucks. These, 

 as a rule, have magnificent heads, but, having 

 otherwise passed their prime, have been driven 

 by younger rivals away from their harem of does, 

 the latter willingly transferring their allegiance 

 to the strongest. Their purpose in life is thus 

 at an end. Deprived of their ever-watchful wives, 

 and with their agility and strength steadily 

 decreasing, it only becomes a matter of time 

 when they will be pulled down by a lion ; or, 

 worse, done to death by hyenas or smaller 

 carnivora. How much more merciful, then, that, 



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