j6 TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND 



grass, taller than the rest — any amateur like myself 

 would have sworn it was grass. " Libbah," our man 

 said impressively. And "libbah" it was. We ap- 

 proached and the " grass " with a bound was off ! We 

 bagged him in the end, and he was a very old creature 

 indeed. Alone, and almost toothless, his day was 

 almost spent, and he died more royally at our hands 

 than ending as the ignominious prey of some hyaena. 

 He put me in mind of a wonderful lion picture I saw 

 once at the Academy, which portrayed an old, old 

 lion, at twilight, in his own beloved haunts, weak and 

 doddering, yet still a king— too strong even yet to be 

 pulled down by the lurking forms, which with lurid 

 eyes watched the dying lion from the dark thorn back- 

 ground. I think the picture was called " Old Age." 



The strange inborn dread all wild creatures have of 

 man, unknown man, makes even the mightiest lion try 

 for safety. There is, of course, no sort of cowardice 

 in him. In open country he knows the man has all 

 the advantage, but even then he faces the music 

 grandly when cornered. In cover, instinct tells him 

 most of the game lies with himself. The Somalis have 

 a way — I am afraid this is a bit of a chestnut — of 

 riding down lion that is really a clever performance 

 If some venturesome beast makes a habit of helping 

 himself to a baby camel or two from the karia at 

 night, he is a marked beast, and a small army of 

 Somalis prepare to give battle. Riding their quick 

 little tats, and all armed with spears, they drive the 

 lion, with prodigious shouting and yelling, into the 

 open. Here they close around him and harry him 



