FIRST GLIMPSE OF A WILD LION 
83 
mauled by a lion was a person of much distinction, 
even more so than the ivory hunter who had killed 
three hundred elephants. 
On the railway to Nairobi every eye was on the 
lookout for lions and every one gazed with intense 
interest at the station of Tsavo and remembered 
the famous pair of man-eaters that had terrorized 
that place some years before. 
In Nairobi the men who had killed lions, and 
those who had been mauled by them (and there are 
The Jolly Little Cemetery 
many of the latter), were objects of vast concern, 
and the little cemetery with its many headstones 
marked “Killed by lion” added still greater fire to 
my interest. 
Consequently, when we marched out of Nairobi 
on the evening of September twenty-third, with 
tents and guns and a hundred and twenty men, the 
dominating thought was of lions. If ever any one 
had greater hope and less expectation of killing a 
lion I was the one. 
We had planned a short trip of from three to five 
