2x8 TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND 
breakfast, we hurried out to see what we should 
see. 
The hunter was right. The blood trail was plain, 
and held on at intervals for a mile or more, when it 
led us to a flimsy bit of thorn growing in some rocky 
cover. Stones and shouts did not serve to eject our 
visitor of the night before, but we heard his singing 
snarls. Posting ourselves some hundred yards away, 
for a wounded leopard is not likely to prove an amiable 
customer, Clarence made some fire alongside us with 
another hunter by twirling the fire stick. And as 
soon as the flame burst from the timber he fostered 
it with a little durr grass, then using it to ignite a 
larger torch, ran towards the citadel and threw the 
blazing thing into the midst. Speedily the flames 
took hold, burning all before it. 
“ Shebel ! Shebel ! ” 
The leopard stole out from the side of the under- 
brush, with low crouched shoulders, and made for the 
open. It limped badly, and lurched as it ran. I 
wanted to dear the hunters who were dancing about 
right in the very zone of fire — a lot of good shots are 
spoiled in this way — so dashed after our prey. Cecily 
ran round the back of the burning bush, and as she 
was nearer, the leopard hearing the quick pad-pad 
after him turned, as a cat does when cornered. With 
ears flattened against the head and a look of most 
vicious rage on the snarling face the leopard shot, all 
wounded as he was, straight at us like an arrow from 
a bow. He was a most courageous animal, but my 
cousin dropped him with a well-planted bullet, catching 
