HUNTING THE LION 13 



head, growling. I still ran on in the hope of lessening 

 the distance between us by fifty yards or so, when 

 the lion turned his head and looked in the direction 

 in which the lioness had retreated. Thinking he also 

 would make a bolt, I took a rather quick and unsteady 

 aim and fired. With a loud grunt he stumbled 

 forward, then recovered himself and made off, limp- 

 ing on one foreleg. I reloaded before he reached 

 the bush, but was still unsteady after my long run, 

 and for the life of me could not get the sight 

 on him as he dodged in and out between the low 

 bushes, finally disappearing in the thick cover. 



A brief examination of the spot showed that he 

 had entered a detached clump of very thick bush, 

 which was separated from a much larger and equally 

 dense one by an open glassy glade, some thirty yards 

 across. 



To enter such a place on the heels of a wounded 

 lion was no part of my present programme, particu- 

 larly as the shades of evening were already falling, 

 the gloom being intensified under the large trees. So 

 I walked up to the open glade, looking carefully for 

 blood-spoor, in order to determine whether or not he 

 had left his first retreat. 



I had covered perhaps a hundred yards or so when 

 a low growl to my right brought me up with a round 

 turn. My eyes instantly fell upon the head, or rather 

 the eyes and upper portion of the head, of a lion 

 watching me from out of some long grass. Naturally 

 I took it to be my wounded beast, though I admit 

 the thought flashed through my mind that there was 

 not much the matter with him. 



Being nearly dark and having only an old-fashioned, 



