126 THE LION CONFUSED. 



was hardly atoned for by his superior courage even. The beast 

 which he pursued had taken refuge, as usual, in a densely thick 

 jungle, where only his horrible growling indicated his locality. 

 The very few feet of reeds completely concealed the lair. Vainly 

 striving to provoke the lion to advance, the hunter at last 

 ventured upon the initiatory proceedings himself by attempting 

 to force his way through the wall, when suddenly he entered a 

 comparatively open space, and met the blazing eyes of the 

 enraged animal fixed upon him. The instant allowed no aim, no 

 use of the knife in his hand ; there was only the one awful sight 

 of the raving monster, his crouching, the furious bound, which 

 by some kind providence carried him above and beyond his 

 victim, and the almost bewildered man scrambled away grate- 

 fully, in consciousness that his life was hardly his own. This 

 suggests a singular fact recorded of the lion : he is said to mani- 

 fest confusion and shame when on any account he overleaps his 

 mark or misses his object, and is never known to repeat the 

 assault on such occasions, unless forced to do so in self-protec- 

 tion ; frequently he has been seen to pause after such a blunder, 

 and, returning quietly to the spot from which he sprang, step 

 carefully the distance to that where his intended victim stood, 

 then, looking up and around thoughtfully, seem to be absorbed 

 in a calculation. The lion certainly is held in the highest 

 respect by the Makololo people : they greatly prefer to encounter 

 the lances and axes, or guns, even, of men, and, while they are 

 eager to resent the slightest insult of a neighboring tribe with 

 bloody war, they are in mortal dread of invading the dominions 

 of this roaring, prowling individual. 



The fevers, which had begun their work some time before, 

 were preying still on the energies of Livingstone ; all along the 

 journey from Sesheke he was tortured by the inward fire, and 

 the poor accommodations of his camp made the nights a ques- 

 tionable exchange for even the toil and glaring sun upon the 

 river. There was a consolation, though, in the kindness of his 

 followers and the attentions of the people along the route. 

 Their hospitality was rendered peculiarly refreshing by the 

 modesty with which it was attended. The owner of an ox 

 would gracefully present it to the stranger, remarking, "Here 

 is a little bit of bread for you." Nothing is prettier in kind- 



