FOREST AND STREAM 
135 
w 
I* March, 
1922 
* AN EAST AFRICAN 
I HUNTING TRIP 
{Continued from page 103) 
: nocturnal, it seems largely a matter of 
. luck whether one sees him or not, and 
■ certainly there are many residents in 
East Africa of sporting proclivities who 
have never seen one in years. 
On this trip we traversed a country 
. where lions were positively known to be, 
. so the usual precautions were taken at 
night to safeguard the draught and 
riding-animals. We occasionally heard 
a far-off roar after dark and sometimes 
^ came on more or less recent tracks, and 
sat up two nights over kills, but never 
did we get a glimpse of one until the 
trip was almost over and we were again 
on the verge of the outlying settled dis- 
tricts. For some reason, only known 
to the Red Gods, all the luck came my 
I way. The first time I came to anything 
■ like close quarters was one very early 
morning when my two gunbearers, the 
! tracker and I set out, with malice afore- 
thought, to visit the carcass of an oryx 
I had killed the previous afternoon. The 
I kill was on the edge of a dense patch of 
I bush and Sulimani, who was leading the 
■ way, suddenly stiffened into a dusky 
image. He had seen a lion leave the 
carcass and disappear into the bush. 
j Examination showed that a portion of 
‘ the oryx had been eaten and that some 
j part had been dragged off. The tracker, 
without a word, led off after the meat, 
and for the next half hour, we followed 
that lion in a mazy pattern through the 
scrub. His tracks were plain on the 
I dew-covered ground, and we must at 
times have been pretty close to him. 
We found where he had jettisoned a 
hind leg of the oryx and we sat over 
that for another half hour in the vain 
; hope that he would be hungry or un- 
intelligent enough to come and fetch it. 
After that we gave it up as a bad job, 
and I did not once view the beast. The 
i tracker smiled his cheerful grin and 
pointed to my boots, to account for the 
failure. I had gone as quietly as I 
j could but I could not compete with my 
naked Wanderobo follower. The white 
man must have boots and clothes, and 
no matter of what materials they are, 
he can never hope to move through 
I tangled scrub with the perfect ease and 
i silence of the black man. 
] The second lion episode was not a 
success, either, but it gave me all the 
thrills I wanted for a quarter of an hour 
I or so and this time at least I saw my 
i game. I had left camp before daybreak 
with my usual three native followers to 
i try for a solitary buffalo whose tracks 
we had seen the previous afternoon. We 
' duly picked up these but could not find 
, any more recent ones, and while search- 
' ing about in the scritb, the Wanderobo 
came on lion spoor, so fresh that there 
was little doubt that the beast was very 
' close to us, in all probability just taking- 
cover for the day after a night’s hunting. 
, Following along a narrow game-path, 
A^ery slowly and quietly, all at once I 
t saw two lion cubs playing together on 
I the path about 30 yards ahead. They 
1 were about the size of Irish terriers 1 
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