86 
IN AFRICA 
looked industriously for lions. On broad, grassy 
plain, in low scrub, on the slopes of low hills— 
everywhere we looked for them. If a flock of 
vultures circled above a distant spot we” went 
over at once in the hope of surprising a lion at his 
kill. Every reed bed was promptly investigated, 
every dry nullah was explored. McMillan’s farm, 
which is a farm only in name, was scoured without 
ever a sign or a hint that a lion lurked thereabouts. 
Mr. McMillan has four lions in a cage, but they 
snarled so savagely that we hastened away to look 
for lions elsewhere. The second day we crossed the 
Nairobi River, the third day we crossed the Indur- 
uga River, and the fourth day we camped down on 
the Athi River. Here we struck a clue. Two 
English settlers came over and told us that lions 
had been heard the night before near their ranch 
house, on the slopes of Donyo Sabuk, a high soli¬ 
tary round top mountain rising from the Athi 
Plains, and we determined to organize our first lion 
hunt. It was here that Mr. Lucas was killed by a 
lion a short time before. 
A lion hunt, or a lion drive, is quite a ceremony. 
You take thirty or forty natives, go to the place 
where the lion was heard, and then beat every bit 
of cover in the hope of scaring out the beasts. Lions 
are fond of lying up during the day in dry reed 
beds, and when you go out looking for them you are 
most likely to find them in such places. 
We started, three of us, with forty porters, at 
about daybreak. At seven o’clock we had climbed 
