238 TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND 



to even try to get my rifle up. It all happened so 

 very swiftly. We were a very small party to tackle 

 a lion in thick cover, but my man was a little Trojan 

 and did not hesitate when I said I would proceed 

 and he must take a hand at the game. He was carrying 

 my 12-bore, and I had my .500 Express. 



First we tethered the ponies, thinking they would 

 be quite safe as we should be in the near vicinity, 

 then we commenced to beat after a fashion of our 

 own. Walking as straight ahead as we could, pushing 

 and struggling through where we couldn't. We fired 

 into the dusky depths in desperation at last, but 

 nothing happened. It was not until we had covered 

 a few hundred yards more before we saw, in a lightening 

 of the undergrowth, a sinuous yellow form streaking 

 along. The hunter in his excitement brought up his 

 rifle. I held his arm. The danger was too great. If 

 a wounded lion turned on us here we were done for, 

 hemmed in as we were. We saw no more of him, 

 he had put some distance between us, and " on my 

 life, had stol'n him home to bed." 



It was a great disappointment, but, after all, there 

 isn't much sport in courting disaster. The chances 

 should be almost even, a little in favour of the animal, 

 not entirely so. 



The ponies had untethered themselves, it doesn't 

 say much for the way we secured them, I'm afraid, 

 and had betaken their way campwards. We had to 

 track their hoof marks that we might also cut a long 

 journey short. Night was closing in, and we wanted 



